


The Reluctant Guide

by dbw



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-23
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbw/pseuds/dbw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate First Meeting. Slashy content, mature themes and bad language.</p><p>"When they met, it was murder."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 2002

Detective James Ellison dashed from his Jeep through the cold rain to the protective cover of the building overhang. The sign next to the side door of the Cascade Museum of Natural History read "Staff Entrance." He flashed his badge at the Uniform standing guard in his raingear and the Officer nodded as he stamped his feet on the concrete in an effort to keep warm.

"Where is it?"

"Upstairs, Detective. Third room on the left. Can't miss it." The Officer held the door open. "Forensics is already up there."

"Thanks."

Ellison winced at the sandpaper scrape of his hand across his face as he wiped away the rain. He took the stairs two at a time and pushed open the door to the second floor. The officer downstairs was right; the flurry of activity around the room alone would have told him it was the crime scene. A rhythmic thumping noise masked the normal sounds of the forensics team going about their work. Fast and loud. What the hell was that? He glanced around for the source, but the sound faded away. He shook his head as he made his way down the hall.

He paused at the door and surveyed the room. A small hand truck loaded with a single unopened wooden crate was parked to the right of the doorway. A large desk stood just to the left, papers spread haphazardly over the polished surface, an expensive leather desk chair shoved back against the wall. Three crates, identical to the one on the hand truck, were lined up under the windows of the wall opposite the door. All three had been opened; cellulose packing material littered the floor. Odd looking artifacts were scattered about in front of the crates as if playthings tossed from a child's toy box.

A man's body lay sprawled on the floor between the desk and the crates, his face turned away from Ellison towards the crates. The victim's throat had been slashed; the head nearly severed from the body. Blood soaked the carpet beneath the head and shoulders, obscenely staining the light brown wool to dark rust.

An elusive scent tugged at the edges of his awareness, teasing him with its vague familiarity. He cocked his head, trying to focus on the origin of the smell. Suddenly, the sharp metallic scent of spilled blood overwhelmed him, its coppery tang flooding the back of his throat, the intensity of the taste nearly gagging him. He rubbed at his forehead in an effort to alleviate the stabbing pain behind his eyes. This wasn't happening, he told himself desperately. Not here, not now. It couldn't be. He had to get a grip on himself.

A smartly attired, dark haired man approached from the hallway. "Hey Jim."

"Rafe." Ellison swallowed hard and willed himself to appear calm. "What've you got?"

Detective Brian Rafe opened a small notebook and flipped through several pages before finding the entry he wanted. "Victim is Michael Sampson, approximately 29 years old. An anthropology student working on an exhibit of artifacts on loan to the Museum from Rainier University. The body was discovered by another student, Blair Sandburg, 25. Says he went down to get the last crate from the truck and when he returned he found Sampson on the floor bleeding. No sign of the murder weapon."

"Where's Sandburg now?" Jim glanced around the room, but saw only authorized personnel.

"H has him in the office across the hall. He was pretty shook up." Rafe hesitated.

"What's your impression?" Ellison held the other detective's gaze.

He shrugged. "If you're asking if I think he did it, then I'd have to say no. Like I said, he was pretty shook up when we got here. He was bent over the guy, trying to stop the bleeding, even though it had to be obvious that Sampson was dead. That said, the only blood on him is on his hands and forearms. No blood spatters anywhere else on his clothing. Plus we found a partial bloody footprint leading away from the body. The size and shape of the print make it too large to be Sandburg's and the soles of his shoes are clean."

"A print?"

Ellison searched the floor. His sight zoomed in on the bloody footprint and for a brief disorienting moment he felt as though he were falling into the carpet fibers, seeing inside the molecules of blood clinging there. Panic gripped him and then the rhythmic thumping noise returned, reverberating in his head, and just as suddenly his sight returned to normal and the noise ceased. He took a deep breath and his hand trembled as he wiped away the sweat beading his upper lip. What the hell was happening to him?

Rafe looked at him curiously. "You feeling okay, Jim?"

"Yeah," he replied and wearily rubbed a hand over his face. "Just a bit tired, is all."

"I bet. I heard you were out on that Switchman stakeout for over a week. Congratulations on catching her, by the way." Rafe smiled.

"Thanks. It was mostly luck. But if you tell that to the Captain, I'll deny I said it." Ellison grimaced and rolled his head and shoulders a couple of times to try to loosen up his tense muscles. "I want to talk to this Sandburg guy."

Rafe nodded and turned from the door. "We were just waiting for you to get here. The Captain made it clear that he wanted you as point on this one."

"Did he say why? I haven't talked to him yet, but I'd have thought this was a simple case of homicide. In fact, I'm not even sure why Major Crime was called in on it."

"He didn't say." Rafe shrugged. "But I can guess. The Museum's one of the Mayor's pet projects. There's probably some political pressure coming down to get this solved as soon as possible."

"Great," Ellison muttered sourly. "That's all we need. Fucking politics. Well, let's get this show on the road."

He followed Rafe across the hall to another office; this one larger and more ostentatious than the room they'd just left. Inside were two men. Rafe's partner, Detective Henri Brown, leaned against the massive wood desk; his gaze focused on the smaller figure seated before him in a leather side chair.

Ellison examined the man in the chair. Sandburg was young, just a kid really. He looked like he should be in a library somewhere studying, not waiting to be grilled about his knowledge of a murder. His dark hair was long and curly, the ends just brushing his shoulders. Two silver hoops hung from his left ear, tinkling together faintly when he moved his head. His blue jeans were faded nearly to white and were ripped across both knees. A long sleeved white shirt stained red at the wrists with blood, and a multi-colored open vest completed the neo-hippie grunge look. His expression spoke of shock and the grief in his blue eyes when he looked up made something inside Jim ache to reassure the kid that everything would be all right. Ruthlessly he pushed his compassion aside and concentrated on doing his job.

"Jim," said the man perched against the desk, "this is Blair Sandburg. He discovered the body and called 911."

"Brown." Ellison nodded at the other detective. "Mr. Sandburg? I'm Detective Ellison. I'll be leading the investigation into Mr. Sampson's murder." He paused as the young man gasped softly and waited while he struggled to pull himself together.

"It's just the shock, you know? Hearing it called murder? Makes it so real. I mean, I know it's real, but I guess part of me was hoping it was all just a nightmare." Sandburg swallowed heavily. "Sorry."

Ellison shook his head and smiled briefly. "You were working with Mr. Sampson on the exhibit?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

Sandburg glanced down at his hands where they lay twisted together in his lap. His words were soft, but he didn't hesitate. "The University periodically loans out some of the artifacts it has in storage. Mike and I were in charge of setting up this exhibit. We were just supposed to deliver the crates to the Museum today and then come back tomorrow to work out the logistics of how the artifacts would be displayed, you know? There were only four crates; mostly small stuff that's easily packed and moved. The last one was heavier than the others and Mike thought it might be best to bring it up by itself, so I went down to get it from the truck. On my way out, one of the museum docents stopped me to ask some questions about the exhibit." He blushed slightly.

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "We'll need her name."

"How did you know it was a she?" He shot a startled glance at Ellison, who merely shrugged.

"Most of the docents I've ever seen have been women. We'll need to ask her about what she saw."

"Oh. Um, her name is Tina Meyers. She's a student at Rainier. I know her from one of my classes."

Ellison nodded encouragingly. "Okay. So, you stopped and talked to Miss Meyers."

"Yeah. I guess we talked for maybe 10 or 15 minutes. I'm not sure exactly. Then I went out and got the last crate, loaded it on the hand truck and brought it up in the elevator. I-I think I left it outside the room when I saw M-Mike on the floor." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"What did you do next?" Ellison asked softly.

"I saw the blood and that Mike wasn't moving. I called 911 and..." His voice trailed off and he hunched in on himself.

Jesus, thought Ellison, the kid looks like he's about 15. "And then?" he prompted.

"Everything else is kind of a blur, you know? I mean, I know I tried to stop the blood, but God, there was so much of it. It just kept coming." Sandburg glanced up, his eyes wide and dark with pain.

Ellison met his gaze and felt a thread of awareness curl in his gut. His sight telescoped and once again he felt himself falling, only this time it was into blue eyes that seemed to bore right into his soul. And just as he thought he would be lost for good, the rhythmic thumping caught his attention again, grounding him and pulling him back. The tempo was rapid and much louder than before and he wondered idly why no one else was commenting on it. Not really his taste in music, he thought, but at least it had brought him out of whatever kind of spell he'd been under. The sound faded away again. He blinked and cleared his throat to cover his confusion.

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Did you see anyone on this floor? Did you notice anyone or anything that might have been out of place?"

Sandburg shook his head and lowered his gaze back to his hands. "No. I'm sorry."

"Tell us about the exhibit. If there are only four lightly loaded crates, why did the University have two students working on it?" Ellison crossed his arms.

Sandburg shrugged. "It's the Anthro Department's way. They like to hand these kinds of projects to a graduate student so you can get a chance to learn about working with museums. And it frees up the faculty from having to do what some of them consider scut work. The student's paid a small stipend and assigned an undergrad helper. It's considered an honor for the undergrad and it's useful for the grad student. Helps make possible contacts for the future, you know?"

"So, they assigned you to help Sampson?"

Sandburg frowned. "Um, no. The exhibit is my responsibility. Mike is...was a Junior. He worked for a few years out of high school before entering Rainier on a part-time basis. This last semester was his first as a full time student."

Ellison raised an eyebrow, glanced at Rafe and Brown and then back at the kid. "You're a grad student?" He couldn't quite keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"I've got my Master's degree and I'll be starting work on my doctorate next fall." Sandburg sighed softly. "I was supposed to be on an expedition this semester, but it fell apart at the last minute, so I'm at odds and ends right now. My advisor thought this exhibit would be a good opportunity for me to stay involved and Dr. Marshall, the Department Chair, agreed with him. It was kind of a last minute deal." His gaze fell to the floor.

"What about the artifacts? How valuable are they?"

"Depends on how you define valuable." Sandburg smiled briefly. "If you mean, would someone want to steal them, then I'd have to say no. They're fairly common items, really. Their value is in their cultural significance. They illustrate a way of life that most people coming to the Museum would never have the opportunity to explore first hand."

"I assume there's a list of what the crates contain?"

"Yeah. I've got it in my backpack." He reached down to the canvas pack on the floor next to his chair, pulled the flap open and dug around inside until he came up with a thin manila folder. Brown held out his hand and Sandburg passed it to him.

The ringing of his cell phone cut off Jim's next question. He flipped it open. "Ellison."

_"Jim, I need you to come back to the station as soon as you can. The Chief wants to talk to us about the Switchman case."_

"Yes, Sir. I can be there in fifteen minutes." He flipped his phone closed and exchanged a glance with Rafe and Brown. "Captain wants me downtown. Can you wrap up here?"

Brown nodded. "We'll make sure everything's taken care of."

"Good. See that Forensics tags all of the stuff in those crates." He looked down at the kid and handed him a business card. "Mr. Sandburg, you'll need to come down to headquarters and give a formal statement. I'd like you to think about what you saw and heard and if anything occurs to you after you give your statement, please don't hesitate to call me."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll do that."

Ellison nodded and turned away. As he jogged down the stairs to the exit he found his thoughts wandering back to the young man with the sad blue eyes. The one whose gaze had sent a jolt right through him. He shivered slightly. Must be coming down with something, he thought. Maybe that was why he was getting all those headaches and why everything was so off kilter lately. At least the rain had stopped. He shook his head and got into his Jeep.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair glanced at the two detectives. "What happens now?" The thought of Mike in the other room made his stomach roll and he fought to control the nausea.

The big black dude, the one Detective Ellison had called "Brown," smiled slightly. "Now you come down to the station and give a formal statement." He turned to his partner. "You want to run him over there while I finish things up here?"

The dark haired detective nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

Brown stared at Blair and nodded slightly as if making a decision. "Why don't you swing by his place, Bri. Let him get cleaned up first."

"I have some clean clothes out in the truck," Blair said hesitantly. "If it's okay, I don't mind just grabbing a shirt."

"That'll work." Rafe stepped to the door. "Later, H."

Blair stood and shouldered his backpack, thankful that his legs were steady. At the door, he stopped with a sigh and turned back. "I hate to ask this, but it is my responsibility. What about the artifacts?"

Brown shrugged. "For now they're considered evidence. We'll have to take them down to the station. There'll be a detailed inventory done and we'll compare it to the list you gave us, make sure nothing's missing. If it turns out that they're not connected with the murder, we can release them to the University. Sorry, but that's the way it is. Forensics will take real good care of them. Don't worry."

Blair shook his head. "I wasn't worried. I just needed to know what to tell the Department. Thanks, man." He followed Rafe down the hall to the stairs, keeping his eyes carefully averted from the room where Mike Sampson's body still lay.

The coroner's wagon pulled into the lot and parked next to the door as they exited the building. The sky was dark and overcast, but thankfully the rain had stopped. A late afternoon wind was blowing, chilling the air and cutting through his shirt and vest. Blair wanted nothing more than to get into Mike's old truck and go home. As if he had one, he thought bitterly. He'd been crashing at his friend's place for the past few days, but that didn't make it his home. His shoulders slumped as he stopped next to the truck's passenger door.

What was he supposed to do with Mike's truck? If the guy had any family in Cascade, Blair wasn't aware of it. He supposed he could drop the keys off with the Department secretary and let them deal with it, but was that the way Mike would want it? What was the right thing to do? He suddenly felt too weary to come up with the proper protocol to use when dealing with the vehicle of a dead friend. Still, he didn't think Mike would begrudge him its use for the next few hours.

He opened the door and reached inside. His duffel bag was still safely stowed on the floorboard. He hadn't planned on going back to Mike's place after they'd finished at the Museum for the day. He'd imposed on his friend long enough and had figured it was time to find another place to crash, even if it meant braving the downtown city shelters. With that in mind he'd brought his belongings with him. It might not be much, but at the moment that duffel, along with his backpack, contained his entire life.

He pulled a clean blue Henley and a lightweight jacket out of the bag and tossed them on the seat. As he shrugged out of his vest and shirt he was surprised when Detective Rafe held out a hand for them. He stopped short of expressing his thanks when the man calmly folded his clothes and slid them into a plastic bag. Evidence. He shivered and turned away to finish pulling on his shirt and jacket.

"You okay to follow me downtown to the station?" Rafe asked and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I know where it is, so don't worry about losing me."

Rafe nodded and headed for his car.

As he drove to the police station Blair's thoughts kept straying to the tall detective with the piercing blue eyes. Detective Ellison. Jim. His bearing just screamed _cop_, all authority and intimidation, but Blair hadn't felt at all uncomfortable in his presence. In fact, he'd felt an inexplicable connection with the man.

He snorted. Good thing his mom wasn't here, he thought. Naomi would be looking for a way to pack him up and leave town as soon as possible. Dealing with the pigs, even to solve a friend's murder, wasn't something she'd willingly do. Not even if the pig was as physically striking as Ellison.

Blair's mouth set in a determined line. Mike was his friend. Maybe they hadn't been best buds, but they'd had a mutual respect for each other. He'd admired the older man's resolve to continue his education and get his degree and Mike had appreciated his tutoring and encouragement. His friend had been murdered and Blair irrationally felt as though he was somehow to blame. Nothing would bring Mike back, but he could do whatever was in his power to help bring his killer to justice. He just had to figure out how he was going to accomplish that.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

"Well, that was fun," Jim groused as he dropped into the chair in front of the Captain's desk. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease yet another headache that throbbed behind his eyes.

Captain Simon Banks chuckled. He poured two cups of coffee from his personal coffee maker and handed one to Jim. "The Chief just wanted to hear the details of the arrest from the man of the hour, Jim. Get your perspective on the case."

"Get something juicy he could use in his next speech, you mean, Sir." He frowned. "I didn't tell him anything more than I put in my report. I've got real work to do and I don't have time to sit around shooting the bull with the Chief about closed cases just so he can have a new story to tell."

"Why Detective, I'm shocked." Banks' grin belied his words.

Jim snorted. "Yeah, sure you are."

Banks leaned forward and asked seriously, "How are things going, Jim? You still having those problems with your senses? I'm sorry I couldn't give you the time off that you asked for, but you seemed to manage with the Switchman all right after all."

He shrugged. "It comes and goes, Simon. Sometimes everything's normal and I think I must be imagining it all and then everything goes out of whack. Like things are too loud or I'm seeing or smelling stuff I shouldn't be able to."

"Did you see a doctor?"

"Yeah. A day full of tests and he says there's nothing wrong with me." Jim frowned. "I don't know what to tell you, Simon. I'm dealing with it, but it's not easy."

"Do you still think you need time off?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No, Sir. Like you said, I caught the Switchman. I'll find a way to get a handle on whatever this is and I won't let it affect my ability to do my job."

"All right, Jim. I'll count on you to let me know if things change." He cradled his coffee cup in his hands and raised an eyebrow. "While I've got you here, tell me what you've got on this murder at the Museum."

"I'd have more to tell you if you hadn't pulled me out of there to play story time with the Chief." At his Captain's glare he held his hands up in mock self-defense. "All right, all right. I'm done. The murder victim was a college student named Michael Sampson. He was there to set up an exhibit of artifacts on loan from the Anthropology Department at Rainier. Don't have a motive yet. In fact, don't have much of anything other than what appears to be a very short timeframe for the murder to have occurred."

"What about robbery? What's the exhibit about?" Simon leaned back in his chair.

Ellison shrugged. "Anything's possible, but I didn't get the impression that the artifacts were worth much other than their intrinsic value. From what little I saw they looked like they were from South or Central America. It just didn't have the feel of a robbery gone sour. Too many artifacts spread out all over the floor, for one thing. If that's what the perp was looking for, then he left them behind."

"He?"

"The guy's throat wasn't just cut, Simon. His neck was nearly severed. Takes a bit of strength to do something like that. Any woman who could do that would be pretty noticeable." He shuddered. "It was an ugly way to die."

"Not many pretty ways to go." Simon glanced out into the bullpen. "Rafe's back. Who's that he has with him?"

Jim looked out the office windows. "Blair Sandburg." He glanced back at Simon and stood up. "Another college student. He and Sampson were working on the exhibit together. He was the one who found the body and called 911."

"You like him as a suspect?" Simon asked.

Jim shook his head. "Not really. The evidence doesn't fit and he doesn't strike me as the type. I won't rule him out yet, but my gut tells me that he's just a witness in this. Hopefully he'll have some information that'll provide a lead, or at least a hint of a motive." He opened the door to leave the office.

"Okay, Jim. Keep me posted, will you? You know that the Mayor specifically requested that I put my best people on this."

He grimaced and nodded. "I'll leave you a preliminary report before I go home tonight."

Sandburg had changed his bloodstained shirt and removed the colorful vest. Jim noted that the blue Henley matched his eyes and then irritably pushed the thought aside. The kid was seated next to Rafe's desk, looking wide-eyed around the busy bullpen. His head whipped around when Jim spoke and he looked up at him with what seemed to be relief.

"Ready to give your statement?" Jim asked. When Sandburg nodded, he turned to his colleague. "Let's take this to a conference room."

He pretended not to notice Rafe's surprised look. Sandburg wasn't a solid suspect and Jim refused to examine the impulse that prevented him from dragging him into an interrogation room. He rationalized that a conference room would let the kid feel more comfortable and that might make it easier for him to come up with details that he wouldn't if he felt rattled.

Sandburg stood and reached for his backpack, but Jim picked it up first, drawing a glance from startled blue eyes. He dropped the scruffy looking canvas bag behind his desk.

"You can leave that here for now."

Sandburg hesitantly nodded. Jim rested a hand on the kid's shoulder, steering him towards the door. Funny, he thought, his headache seemed to have disappeared.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair sat at the conference table and rested his head in his hands. The detectives had shown him into the room and then they'd left him to sit there alone. And wait. And stew. And fret. And worry.

The shock of discovering Mike's body was beginning to wear off and he felt exhausted. His thoughts kept chasing round in circles. Was he a suspect? He had to be, didn't he? Didn't they say everyone was a suspect in a murder investigation? Why hadn't they put him in one of those rooms with the two-way mirrors? Or did that only happen on those TV cop shows? God, he was getting punchy. He shook his head to try to clear it.

Blair relaxed slightly when the door opened and Detective Ellison entered. Finally. He wanted to get this over with. He was used to running on adrenaline and he could tell that it wouldn't be long before he crashed. Too much stress, not enough sleep and definitely not enough to eat over the last few days meant that he was coasting on fumes. On top of all that, he knew from previous experience that the shelters would be full by now. Surely staying at Mike's for one more night would be all right?

Ellison sat down in a chair across from him and regarded him thoughtfully. "Are you feeling okay?"

Blair shrugged half-heartedly. "Yeah. I guess. I'm really beat, though, you know? Mike was my friend and I want to help. I need to help, but I don't know just how coherent I'm gonna be right now."

The big man shook his head. "Don't worry about it. We'll get everything down that you can remember right now. Anything that comes to you later, well, we can add it to your statement."

He nodded. "So, what do I do?"

Ellison placed a small tape recorder on the table between them. "Just tell me what happened today. I may ask a few questions to prompt you, but I'm mostly interested in hearing from you. Ready?"

Blair nodded.

He pushed the play/record buttons on the tape recorder. "This is Detective James Ellison interviewing Blair Sandburg regarding the murder of Michael Sampson." He walked Blair through the explanation of why the two men had been at the Museum that day, the loaned exhibit and why the University required two students to work on it. Then he came to the details of what transpired just prior to the murder.

"Mr. Sandburg, please tell me what happened this afternoon at the Museum." He inclined his head towards Blair.

Blair took a deep breath and let it out. "We, um, Mike and I that is, had already brought up the first three crates. The Museum Director told us to use the office we were in because it was unoccupied and we'd be able to spread out without being disturbed. I told Mike that I was gonna go down and get the last crate. I wanted to make sure everything was inside before it really started raining."

"Did you see anyone on the second floor when you left to get the crate?"

He shook his head. "No. I think there were people in and out of the other offices while we were up there, though. I wasn't paying all that much attention, to tell you the truth. Anyone could have been in any of the other rooms that had their doors closed." He glanced uncertainly at Ellison who nodded calmly for him to continue.

"So like I said, I took the hand truck down in the elevator. I was on the first floor, heading for the staff entrance, when Tina Meyers stopped me." Blair repeated what he'd told the detectives earlier about their conversation.

"What was she doing there?" Ellison asked.

"Huh?" He blinked. "Oh, um, she's a docent at the Museum. She said that she'd just finished a tour for a fourth grade elementary class."

"Okay. And your conversation lasted approximately how long?"

"Dunno, man. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes. I don't have a watch, you see, so it's just a guess, but I wouldn't think it was more than fifteen. Anyway, then I went out to the truck and got the crate. Good thing, too, 'cause it was starting to rain pretty hard by the time I got back to the entrance. I took the elevator up to the second floor and pushed the hand truck down the hall to the office." He swallowed hard. "I saw Mike on the floor right off and then I saw all the blood. I knew I had to get help, but there didn't seem to be anyone around. I used the phone in the office to call 911 and then I...I tried to stop the bleeding. Nothing I did helped at all, the blood just kept gushing out. Maybe if I'd gotten there sooner I could have done something to save him." He shut his eyes against the memory and swayed slightly in his chair.

Ellison pressed the stop button on the recorder and said softly, "There was nothing you could have done that would have made a difference."

Blair's eyes opened and his breath caught as he met the detective's sympathetic blue gaze. "What?"

Ellison shook his head slowly. "The wound was too deep. Even if you'd been there right when it happened, it wouldn't have mattered. And the only possible purpose that would have served would have been to maybe get yourself killed as well."

Blair shivered slightly, but he wasn't sure if it was due to the thought that he might have been killed or to the expression in the detective's eyes. His hands were clenched in his lap and he forced himself to relax. An unexpected dizziness struck and he swayed again in his chair, the world changing rapidly from gray to black. The next thing he knew he was on the floor, propped up against Ellison's chest as the man knelt beside him, the detective's strong arms holding him gently.

"W-what happened?" Blair blinked to try to clear his vision.

"You passed out, kid," Ellison replied softly. "It's been a long day and I'd say it just caught up with you. When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm not a kid." He struggled to sit up and move away, feeling oddly bereft at the loss of the warm embrace. Ellison helped him into his chair and then stepped back. Blair propped an elbow on the table and rested his forehead in his hand. "I guess I had something for breakfast, before we went to the Museum."

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "You guess? You don't remember eating? Even so, that was hours ago. It's almost 7:00. Come on."

Blair narrowed his eyes and glanced up at him. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know about you, but I could use something to eat. There's a decent sandwich shop across the street. We'll grab some dinner and then finish up your statement."

Blair worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered how he was going to get out of this. He didn't have the extra money to spend on a fancy sandwich right now, but he was reluctant to admit it to the man standing in front of him. He raised a hand and waved it in a vague gesture. "Nah, man, that's okay. I mean, if you're really hungry go on ahead. I can wait here for you."

Ellison frowned and cocked his head. "No can do, Chief. It's against department procedure to leave a witness alone while I take a dinner break. We've kept you here late, the least we can do is pay for your meal." He gestured for Blair to proceed him out the door.

He stood and tried not to look too shaky. His pride warred with his hunger, but he already knew which side was going to lose. "Guess I've got no choice, huh?" he asked lightly.

"None at all," Ellison replied in the same tone. He put a steadying hand on Blair's shoulder and left it there as they walked down the hallway to the elevator.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim bit into his sandwich and watched Sandburg eat. At least he wasn't wolfing his food down, he thought with a smile. No, he'd methodically worked his way through the sandwich and soup in front of him as if it was the first meal he'd had in days. The soup bowl was scraped clean and he wasn't leaving so much as a crumb behind from the sandwich. Jim sobered as he wondered just when it was that the kid had really eaten last. He frowned and put his sandwich down.

He was about to ask that question when Sandburg looked up and smiled. It seemed to radiate from his eyes, lighting up his whole face. He found himself smiling in return, enjoying the warmth banking in the pit of his stomach. Damn but the kid was beautiful, he thought. Jim blinked in surprise and sternly told his libido to go back to sleep. The last thing he needed right now was to compromise a case by getting involved with a suspect.

"Thanks man," Sandburg said ruefully as he glanced down at his bare plates, "I guess I needed that."

Jim shrugged. "No problem, Chief. You finished?" At Sandburg's nod, he said, "Let's get back then. The sooner we finish up the sooner you can go home." If he hadn't been looking at him he would have missed the expression of sadness that fleetingly appeared on the kid's face. He puzzled over it, but couldn't figure out what it meant.

A few minutes later they entered the bullpen and Jim made a beeline for his desk to get the tape recorder he'd been using during the interview. It was quiet at that time of night, only a couple of the day shift detectives were still at their desks finishing up reports. The detectives on night shift were either out working their cases or had business elsewhere in the building.

As they reached Jim's desk, the door to the Captain's office opened. "Ellison? You have that report for me yet?" Captain Banks walked over to stand in front of Jim's desk and folded his arms over his chest.

"Ah, no Sir, not yet." He glanced down at the man standing next to him. "Captain Banks, this is Blair Sandburg. Sandburg, this is my Captain, Simon Banks."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Sandburg said and held out his hand.

Jim's mouth twitched as he fought to control the smile that wanted to escape at the surprise on the Captain's face as they shook hands. It looked like Sandburg wasn't exactly what Simon had expected.

"Mr. Sandburg." Simon composed his expression and said, "I understand Mr. Sampson was a colleague."

"Yes, sir," he replied softly, "and he was my friend."

Simon nodded and said gravely, "Please accept my condolences."

"Thank you."

Simon turned to Jim and asked, "When do you think you'll have that report, Jim? The Mayor was pretty clear about wanting an update tonight."

He sighed. "Would a verbal report do?"

Simon nodded. "That'll be fine, Detective."

Jim guided Sandburg to the chair behind his desk and motioned for him to sit down. "You can wait here for me, Chief. This'll only take a few minutes and then we really will finish up your statement." He took a long look at the kid and figured a few minutes of quiet might do him some good.

As they headed for the Captain's office he smiled when he heard Sandburg mutter softly, _'What do they feed these guys? Special cop growth hormones?'_

"Something funny, Jim?" Simon paused at the door to his office, one hand on the knob.

Jim glanced at him and then back at Sandburg in confusion. He'd heard the kid as plain as day, but obviously Simon hadn't heard him at all. Realizing that his Captain was patiently waiting for an answer, he said, "Uh, no Sir. Just thinking about something else entirely." He sighed and followed him into his office.

Jim spent the next several minutes discussing the details of the case with the Captain. Yet, even as he talked about what little they currently knew, his eyes kept straying to the figure sitting at his desk.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Simon?"

"You want to tell me what's going on with you and the kid out there?"

He gazed at his Captain through narrowed eyes. "I don't know what you mean, Sir," he said stiffly.

Banks sighed. "I mean, Detective, that you keep watching him like you think he's going to disappear. Is there something you're not telling me? Are you suspicious of his story for some reason? Do you think he's more of a suspect than you've said?"

Jim slowly released his breath. "No, Sir. Nothing like that. I just...he's a puzzle that's all. I guess I've been trying to figure him out in my head and it's distracting me."

"Well, be distracted on your own time, will you, Jim? The Mayor is giving me headaches about this one. His office already called twice demanding status while you were taking Sandburg's statement."

"What's the deal with that, anyway? I know the Mayor's involved with the Museum, but I wouldn't have thought that a single murder would cause so much concern."

Banks shrugged. "Beats me, but then I'm not a politician. Who knows how their minds work? However, I do know that the Mayor is also on the Board of Trustees at Rainier."

Jim groaned softly. Suddenly he cocked his head and his nostrils flared. He whipped around to stare through the blinds at Sandburg. What the hell? He was still sitting in the chair behind Jim's desk, but he was leaning back away from a tall, muscular blond man who seemed to loom over him. The kid was clutching his backpack to his chest as if it was some sort of protective talisman.

Jim's eyes narrowed as he recognized the guy as Detective Pete Keller from Vice. They'd sparred over cases a couple of times. Keller had an attitude that wouldn't quit and he seemed to have a particular chip on his shoulder when it came to one James Ellison.

Keller leaned menacingly over Sandburg and as he grabbed the kid's upper arm in a bruising grip Jim felt an irrational anger build. He found himself standing next to his desk before he even realized that he'd left the Captain's office.

Jim crossed his arms and glared coldly at the blond detective. "Something I can do for you, Keller? Or did you just forget the way back down to Vice?"

Keller bared his teeth in a semblance of a grin and released his hold on Sandburg's arm. "Nope. I was just passing by and saw him sitting at your desk. Usually don't see pretty boys like him up here in Major Crime. Thought I'd find out what he was doing here, you know, like maybe he'd wandered away from one of the guys downstairs?" He leered down at the Sandburg, who flinched back away from him.

Jim's hands clenched into fists at the man's insolent tone. "He's a witness on a case I'm working. He's got nothing to do with Vice, Keller, so stay away from him. Got it?"

Keller's voice took on a derisive tone. "Oh, I get it all right. You know, Ellison, I've heard all about you and your time down in Vice. How you were the best and no one's topped your arrest record since you transferred and no one ever will, all that kind of shit. Guess it's also true what they say about you not liking to share." Keller glanced down at Sandburg and then gave Jim a long, assessing look before turning on his heel to stalk out of Major Crime.

"Ellison, my office!" Banks barked from his doorway. "Now, Detective. And bring Mr. Sandburg with you."

Jim took a shaky breath. Shit. Simon was going to want an explanation for his behavior and he was damned if he had one. He glanced at Sandburg and his expression softened.

"Come on, Chief. Don't let Simon fool you. His bark is far worse than his bite." He turned away and smiled slightly as he heard the kid mutter under his breath, _'Yeah? Why doesn't that make me feel any better?'_

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair followed the other men into the office and sat in a chair in front of the Captain's desk. He was thoroughly confused. Why had Detective Ellison been so upset? And what had that other detective -- Keller? What had he wanted? The thought of Keller's hand on his arm made Blair shudder in revulsion, though he was puzzled at the strength of his reaction.

Ellison stood stiffly at attention next to his chair; his gaze focused on the opposite wall. Blair waited uncomfortably, halfway convinced that he was about to see some kind of explosion. Captain Banks closed the door and slowly walked around his desk to sit down.

"Mind telling me what the hell that was all about, Jim?" Banks asked, his voice deceptively mild.

Blair watched in fascination as a muscle in Ellison's jaw jumped and twitched. Man must have hellacious dental bills, he thought. He'd just about decided that there wasn't going to be an answer when the detective spoke.

"I don't know what to say, Sir." He sounded confused. "I saw Keller standing over Sandburg and I guess I...I thought he was threatening him. I just reacted to that threat."

Blair glanced at the Captain and read the surprise on his face before he carefully schooled it back to a neutral expression. Threat? Blair thought about it and realized that he had felt threatened by Keller, though he really couldn't remember just what the man had said. He looked up and realized that he'd been asked a question.

"I'm sorry," he said wearily, "I didn't catch what you were saying."

Captain Banks shook his head. "That's all right. I believe we're just about ready to cut you loose for the night. But before you go I need to know if Detective Keller was threatening you in any way."

"Um, I'm not exactly sure." He shook his head. "I guess I did feel kind of threatened, but I might have been overreacting. To be honest, I wasn't really following what he was saying very well. I think all the stress just caught up with me, you know?"

"Of course." Banks pinned Ellison with a glare. "And I'm sure Detective Ellison regrets if he made you feel uncomfortable."

Ellison nodded, his face expressionless except for the occasional twitch in his jaw. "Yes, Sir."

"I think that's enough for tonight, Jim. Why don't you wrap it up for now? I'm sure Mr. Sandburg would be willing to return tomorrow if you need to finish up with him?"

"Yes, Sir." Ellison glanced at Blair and smiled slightly. "Let's go, Chief. I bet you'd like to get out of here."

Blair nodded and followed him out to his desk. He was so tired he was having trouble thinking straight. A glance at the wall clock told him it was almost 9:00. On a normal day that would still be early for him, but the way he felt he wouldn't have been surprised if the clock had read three a.m.

"You don't mind coming in tomorrow, do you? I just have a few more questions and that should take care of your statement." Ellison straightened the folders scattered over his desk into a neat stack.

"Yeah, man, that's fine. What time do you want me?" Blair gave in to a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Ten okay with you?"

He nodded and reached for his backpack. "So, it's all right for me to leave now?"

"Soon as I get your address and phone number."

Blair froze. "Address?" What was he supposed to tell him?

"Uh-huh." Ellison pulled out a form with an address box at the top and entered Blair's name on the appropriate line. He looked up, an expectant expression on his face.

"Um, well, I-I guess you can use this," he stammered and rattled off Mike's address. "I, uh, don't have a phone."

"That's in the warehouse district, isn't it? I wasn't aware that there'd been any apartment conversions going on down there. Wait a minute." Ellison flipped through the file and raised an eyebrow. "You and Sampson were roommates?"

He sighed. "You're right, it is a warehouse. It's, I mean it was, Mike's place, but we weren't roommates. He'd let me crash on his couch for the last few nights. I figured it'd be okay for me to stay there tonight. And, uh, I wasn't sure what else to do with them so I was planning on taking his keys over to the University first thing in the morning."

"And then where will you be staying?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't really know, Detective." Not like he had a lot of choices, he thought glumly.

Ellison frowned. "Don't you have a place?"

"No." He glanced away. "I was supposed to be on an expedition to the Amazon Basin right now. I'd made all of the arrangements, gave up my room, everything. My group was supposed to meet up at the L.A. airport. We were waiting there all set to go when we found out that the sponsor had been hit by a car. Dr. Carruthers was pretty banged up, broke his hip and dislocated his shoulder among other things. He'd arranged the funding personally, so without him there was no expedition."

"And?"

He shrugged. "And, I was lucky to be able to turn in my ticket for a small refund and a ticket on a flight back to Cascade. By then, it was way too late to enroll in the graduate program this semester and my room had already been rented out. That wouldn't have been so bad, but I'd been counting on not needing any money while I was gone. No grants or aid until you're actually enrolled, you know? Problem is, all I had was the money left over from the ticket refund and a couple hundred dollars in my pocket. I got back into town a week or so ago and I've been crashing on Mike's couch ever since. I've been trying to look for a job and get enough saved to put down as a deposit on a place."

"I see," Ellison said quietly. "I'll put this address down for now, but you'll have to let me know where you'll be later in case I need to contact you."

He nodded. "Sure, Detective. And I can go now, right?"

"Yeah. Listen, Sandburg, I am sorry about what happened with Keller. I'm really not sure why I reacted the way I did." He shrugged. "If you wait up a sec I'll walk out with you." He turned off his desk light, picked up his jacket and followed Blair down the hall to the elevators.

"You don't have to apologize to me, man. I guess I'm a little confused about what it was all about, but I appreciate the thought behind your actions." He entered the elevator and waited for the detective to get on and push the button for the garage.

"This place of Sampson's. You said it's a warehouse?" Ellison cleared his throat.

"Uh-huh. Mike said it was the most space he could get for $850 a month. Seemed like a lot of money to me, but I guess it was worth it to him. He partitioned off a corner to live in, but the rest is mostly empty. I asked him once what he planned to do with it all and he just smiled and said he liked the open space." He couldn't suppress a slight shiver. "I'm not sure the space makes up for the rats, though."

"Rats?" He frowned. "Are you sure this place is safe, Chief? A lot of those warehouses down in that area aren't very secure."

Blair shrugged. The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the nearly empty police garage. "I dunno, man, but it beats sleeping on the street for the night, you know? Anyway, it's only for tonight." He pulled his thin jacket together and zipped it up against the chill. He walked to Mike's truck as Ellison turned to the left, heading for an old red Jeep.

"If you say so. I'll see you in the morning." The man looked vaguely troubled as he climbed into his vehicle.

Blair nodded and watched as the Jeep drove out of sight. He opened the truck door and sighed. A hell of a lot had happened in the last few hours, so why was it that it was the sight of Ellison's Jeep disappearing into the night that made him ache?

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Several hours later Pete Keller walked slowly down the hallway of the seventh floor of the Police Department and glanced into the darkened bullpen of Major Crime. Few people were on the floor this late at night and Major Crime was deserted. He figured that if he ran into anyone and was questioned about his presence he'd just claim a jones for a particular candy bar that the vending machines were out of downstairs.

He eased his way through the door and into the bullpen. A long look around the dark room reaffirmed his initial impression that he was alone. He stood next to Ellison's desk and pulled a tiny maglite out of his pocket. Alone he might be at the moment, but he wasn't about to turn on a desk lamp and advertise his presence to anyone who chanced to walk by.

Keller looked through the stack of folders on the desk, pulled out the one labeled "Sampson, Michael" and flipped it open. He shuffled the few sheets inside until he came to the list of items Forensics had found in the crates. He ran his finger down the page, ignoring the descriptions of pottery and bone fragments. It wasn't there. His jaw clenched and he was torn between feeling relieved and feeling furious. His neck was on the line here and somebody was going to pay. He just had to figure out which end of the pipeline had screwed him.

There wasn't much else in the file for all of the time Ellison had spent talking to the pretty boy he'd had at his desk. He rifled the remaining pages and stopped when he came to the witness report form. Bingo. A name and address to go along with that pretty face. Blair Sandburg. Next appointment tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. Plenty of time before then to find out just what pretty Blair knew.

He wrote the information down on a postit note and put it in his pocket, quickly stacking the folders in the same place he'd found them. Then he casually strolled out of Major Crime on his way to the elevator. Hands shoved in his pocket, he rocked back on his heels and whistled tunelessly as the elevator descended to the garage. He was looking forward to this little visit, oh yes he was. The elevator door opened on the third floor and his eyes widened in surprise as his Captain and three other Vice detectives got on.

"Keller? What the hell are you still doing here? I thought you went home hours ago," Captain Saunders said in surprise. He waved a hand to forestall a reply. "Never mind. This is a stroke of luck. I wouldn't have called you out, but since you're already here you can come with us. We've had a break on the Garcia stakeout. We're blowing the place wide open in the next hour and we can definitely use you."

Keller nodded grimly. "Of course, Captain. Whatever you need me to do." His little rendezvous with Mr. Sandburg would just have to wait. But not for too long. He was rapidly running out of time and his employers wouldn't be patient forever.

He followed the others out of the elevator at the garage level, hoping that the bust would end up being a swift one. He couldn't have been more wrong and they were still cleaning up the fallout late into the morning. Sandburg and whatever he knew would have to wait a while longer.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim sat at his desk and rubbed his forehead. He'd only gotten a couple of hours of sleep and his headache was back with a vengeance. The other detectives in the bullpen were giving him a wide berth after he'd snapped at them one too many times and that was just fine with him.

He sighed and tried to avoid thinking about the cause of his late night tossing and turning. Might as well try not to think about tiny pink winged elephants. Sandburg. That's what it came down to. The thought of the kid sleeping in a drafty, unsafe, rat-infested warehouse had left him restless.

_"Better than sleeping on the street."_

Those words had haunted him all night. What was it about Sandburg that had made him feel such an immediate protectiveness? This was ridiculous. He'd never felt this way about his friends or family, certainly it wasn't how he'd felt about his ex-wife. He snorted. That would've gone over big. He could just hear what Carolyn's reaction would have been. _'I'll have you know I've been competently taking care of myself for years before I met you, Jimmy. What makes you think I've lost the ability to do that now just because we're married?'_

Oh yeah, Carolyn would've torn him a new one if she'd thought he was going all caveman on her. Not that he'd have blamed her. Hell, he knew just how competent she was at taking care of business. It was one of the things that had attracted him to her in the first place, as well as one of the many problems that they'd had between them when they split up.

The weird thing was that he figured the kid could probably take care of himself just fine. He was an adult, after all. It was just that Jim had the strongest feeling that he should be doing it. That he needed to make sure that Sandburg was all right. He shook his head. He really must be going crazy if he was letting himself get so worked up over a guy he'd just met. A suspect in a murder investigation, no less.

Jim wasn't sure what caught his attention, but he lifted his head and looked straight into smoky blue eyes. Sandburg stood at the entrance to the bullpen, gazing at him hungrily, as if Jim held the answers to all of the questions of the universe. This morning he was wearing black jeans and a dark blue and white plaid flannel shirt. His hair was tied back in an attempt to contain the wild curls, but it only served to emphasize the masculine beauty of his face. Jim's mouth went dry as he stood and beckoned the kid over.

"Good morning, Detective."

He smiled slightly, letting the husky voice soothe his previous irritation away. "You're early. Thanks for coming in this morning." Jim frowned as he took in the dark smudges under his eyes. The kid looked like he'd hardly slept last night either. "Are you okay?"

Sandburg shrugged and glanced down at Jim's desk. "Yeah. I guess. I couldn't sleep, so I finally just got up and caught the bus here. It was hard last night. I probably shouldn't have stayed at Mike's place, but I didn't have a lot of options. I could see him everywhere I looked and when I tried to sleep, well, I kept dreaming about the Museum, you know?" He sighed.

"Yeah, Chief," he said softly. "I'm sorry you've had to go through this." He briefly clasped the younger man on the shoulder.

"Thanks, man. That's nice of you to say." He glanced up at Jim in surprise.

He shrugged and gestured at the chair next to his desk. "Ready to get started?"

Sandburg nodded and dropped his duffel bag and backpack on the floor. "We're gonna do this here? Aren't we going into a conference room or something?"

He shook his head. "No need. I think we can finish up here, if you don't mind? Technically you're a suspect, but only technically. And there's not much left to cover."

"Oh. Okay." Sandburg sat down and shifted his backpack to the floor between his feet.

Jim reached for the stack of folders on his desk and pulled out the Sampson file. As he opened it he caught a whiff of something oddly familiar. What _was_ that? He tilted his head and flared his nostrils slightly as he concentrated on the faint scent. The room faded away. The next thing he knew there was a warm hand on his arm and he heard Sandburg's voice asking him to come back. He glanced down in confusion at the kid crouched by his chair.

"Hey, man. You're back." Relief was evident in his soft voice.

Jim blinked. "What happened?" He looked around the bullpen. Thankfully none of the other detectives seemed to have noticed anything.

Sandburg shifted back into his chair and shook his head. "You tell me. One minute you're opening that file and the next you're sitting there like a statue. You wouldn't respond to anything and I... for a moment I was afraid you'd stopped breathing." His hand shook slightly as he rubbed it across his forehead.

"When I opened the file I thought I smelled something familiar. It was faint though and I was trying to see if I could catch it again. The next thing I know you're on your knees there telling me to come back."

The kid's eyes narrowed and he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "Has that ever happened before?"

Jim glanced away and then nodded. "A couple of times in the last week or so," he said reluctantly.

"Was it always while you were trying to identify a smell?"

Jim frowned. "No. Once I was standing on my balcony and saw a bird fly by. All I remember is a flash of red. The next thing I knew it was night and it had started raining. I guess the rain must have brought me out of it."

Sandburg rubbed his chin. "Have you been to a doctor?"

"Yeah. I've been experiencing some weird stuff with my senses, so I went to see the doctor. He sent me to several specialists and they ran a whole battery of tests on me. Everything came back normal. The doc said it was stress." Jim snorted. "Like I couldn't have told him that myself. What'd he think the Switchman case was? A stroll in the park?"

"The Switchman?" Sandburg's eyes widened. "You're the detective who arrested the Switchman?"

He nodded.

Sandburg frowned and then looked him in the eye. "I hope you won't take this wrong. I'm really glad you've been assigned to find Mike's killer, but, man, you must be the best detective in the police department. And I thought I understood the concept behind the Major Crime unit. Isn't this case a bit mundane to be assigned to someone like you? Not that I'm complaining."

Jim smiled. "You're right about the case. As horrific as your friend's murder was, this type of crime usually goes to Homicide. There're politics behind having it assigned to Major Crime and to me. Seems the Mayor has an interest in the Museum. Don't let it worry you, Chief. I take every case I work on seriously, no matter how it came my way. This one is just as important to me as any other case I'm working."

He shook his head. "I didn't mean to imply that you wouldn't do your best, Detective. I just thought it was unusual, that's all." He hesitated for moment, then said, "About the, um, stress stuff that's been happening to you? I have this feeling that I've read about something like it, maybe something from one of my anthropology classes. I can't put my finger on it at the moment, but if you don't mind I'd like to do a little research. See if I can locate the information for you."

Jim regarded him steadily for several moments. Something in his gut was telling him to trust the kid and he really hoped it wasn't just his wayward hormones kicking up their metaphoric heels. What the hell? The doctors sure didn't have any answers for him. In point of fact, he'd toned down his descriptions of what he was experiencing after they'd started giving him odd looks. No way did he want to end up with a psych evaluation crammed down his throat in addition to everything else. If Sandburg could come up with something that could help him, Jim didn't care if the answer came from Timbuktu.

He nodded slowly. "Fine. If you find something, I'll listen."

Sandburg held out his hand. "It's a deal, Detective."

Jim took his hand and felt a warm tingle rush up his arm. He watched Sandburg's eyes widen and realized that he'd felt it too, whatever it was. He released his hand and sat back.

"So," Sandburg asked nervously, "what other questions do you have about yesterday?"

Jim took a deep breath and mentally shook his head. Time to focus on the job. "Tell me about the crates. You've provided the list of the contents and so far it looks like everything is there, so we're pushing the robbery-gone-bad theory way down on the list. I want to make sure that I haven't overlooked anything, though."

"What do you want to know about them?"

Jim cocked his head. "Did you and Sampson pack the crates?"

Sandburg shook his head. "No. They were packed and sealed before we picked them up. I'm not sure exactly who did the work, but I assume it was a student assigned by the Department." He blinked several times and met Jim's gaze. "The same person would have been responsible for putting together the list of the contents. You don't think..?"

Jim raised his eyebrows. "It's possible, I suppose. First, though, who decided on what artifacts should be loaned to the Museum?"

"I'm not sure for this particular exhibit. I was sort of brought on board at the last minute, so I was more concerned about getting everything to the Museum, you know? I hadn't really had time to do much more than glance over the list before we picked up the crates." He shrugged. "Sometimes the Chair decides. Other times it's whichever faculty member has a specialty in the area that's going on loan."

"And they would provide the list to the student helper? Kind of negates the idea that the student might decide to steal something before packing up the crates, huh?"

Sandburg frowned. "Maybe not. I've done this a few times, Detective, both as an assistant and as a packer. Depending on the exhibit and the faculty member, the list of artifacts given to the packer can be as vague as just being told to gather up as much stuff from storage room X as looks interesting and put together the list as you pack. There are a lot of artifacts in storage rooms scattered around the University. I doubt that there's a complete listing of all of them in the Department."

"Doesn't sound very efficient to me." How could anyone function like that, he wondered?

Sandburg smiled. "You're talking about a University, Detective, not a business or even the Police Department. Efficiency isn't necessarily the top priority."

Jim rubbed his jaw. "So, it would be possible for someone to take something?"

He nodded. "Yeah. But I don't see what good that does us. I mean, if the packer took something of value during the packing, wouldn't they have just left it off the list? And then, where's the connection to killing Mike?"

Jim shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Chief. I'm just trying to get all of the facts together so I can see where they fit in. I might be following this down a rat hole, but something tells me that the crates are the keys to this thing. Maybe the killer will turn out to be someone with a personal connection to Sampson, but that just feels wrong to me."

Sandburg rubbed his palm back and forth on his thigh. "Mike didn't have a lot of friends, but I don't think he had any enemies. He pretty much stayed to himself. I met him last semester while I was doing some tutoring for the department. He was having trouble in a class and I helped him through it. We weren't real close, but we were friends, you know?"

Jim nodded and waited for the rest. He watched as Sandburg closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if trying to settle himself. He blinked as he realized that his headache was gone. It had faded about the time that he'd spotted the kid in the doorway to Major Crime. Like last night when his headache had disappeared when Rafe had shown up with Sandburg. Coincidence, he thought irritably.

Sandburg glanced at Jim, determination blazing from his eyes. "I'd like to help find Mike's killer in whatever way you'll let me, Detective. I can help with the Anthro Department. I know all of the staff and most of the faculty. I really...I need to do this."

Jim looked at him skeptically. "I'm not sure what you're asking here, kid. I can't have you be part of this investigation. You're a suspect, for crissake!" He frowned. There was no way that something like this would fly with Simon.

Sandburg leaned forward. "I can help," he insisted. "Look. You said my being a suspect was a technicality. I mean, you've pretty much crossed me off the viable list, right? Well, why can't I help you unofficially? Who would know?"

"I'd know. I'm sorry Chief, but we can't do this. I know you want to help, but if anything went wrong it could screw up the investigation. Maybe jeopardize an arrest. You wouldn't want your friend's murderer to go free, would you?" Not to mention the fact that his participation might just put him in harm's way. That was a risk that Jim wasn't willing to take, no matter how tempting the idea was of having the kid stay close to him.

Sandburg slumped back in his chair. "No. No, you're right I wouldn't want that." He straightened again. "But that doesn't have to happen, right? I could be as much of a help as a hindrance." Jim bit back a smile at the comical expression that crossed his face. "Wait! I didn't mean that like it sounded. I know I can help. You need me!" The last three words were said in a low fierce voice and took them both by surprise.

Jim shivered. _You need me!_ The words pinged around in his brain like someone had set off a chain reaction. For a second he thought he heard the coughing growl of a big cat, a puma or a jaguar or something. He shook his head to clear it and glanced at the kid.

Sandburg sat stunned, his mouth open and his eyes unfocused. After a few moments he blinked and looked around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. Jim frowned and leaned forward to place a hand on his arm.

"You all right?" Jim asked softly. He met Sandburg's eyes and caught his breath at the depth of emotion that he saw there.

"I'm not really sure," he replied in a shaky voice. "You felt that too, didn't you Detective?"

He nodded slowly; not sure if he was ready to admit to what he'd just experienced.

"Did you hear it?" Sandburg whispered. "The howling?"

Howling? Jim frowned. Didn't he mean growling?

The door to the Captain's office flew open and Simon strode over to Jim's desk. "Got another murder for you, Jim." His gaze took in Sandburg and he nodded in greeting.

"Sir?" There was something in the Captain's demeanor that set off Jim's warning bells.

"It's at Rainier," Simon said and hesitated before continuing. "A professor in the Anthropology Department."

Blair gasped softly. "Who?" He glanced at the two men and added, "If it's all right for me to ask?"

"The call came in from campus dispatch and they didn't say who it was, just that it was someone in that department and the crime scene's at Hargrove Hall. I'm sorry." Simon shrugged slightly in apology. "You're to meet Suzanne Tomaki. She's head of campus police over there and she'll be your liaison with the University."

"I've worked with Suzanne before. She'll have the scene properly secured," Jim said. "I'm on my way, Sir."

"I'll expect a report later, Jim." Simon nodded once and returned to his office.

Jim stood and glanced at Blair regretfully. "Well, Chief, guess this will have to wait a while. If you'll let Simon's assistant Rhonda know how you can be reached, I'll be in touch."

Sandburg gathered his duffel and backpack and followed Jim out of the bullpen. He was quiet while they waited for the elevator and Jim watched him covertly out of the corner of his eye. He seemed withdrawn; his attention focused elsewhere and Jim had to nudge him to enter the empty elevator when the doors opened. As the car descended towards the garage, he turned to Jim.

"Take me with you," he said, watching Jim intently.

"What?" He frowned. "You want a ride to Rainier? I dunno, Chief--"

"No. I mean, take me with you to Hargrove Hall."

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "I can't take you with me on an investigation. Besides the fact that you're technically a suspect in another murder, it's against regulations to have an unauthorized civilian ride along. Forget it, Sandburg."

"What I said before? It still goes. You need me. Don't ask me how I know, but I do. Look, I know Rainier. I know the Anthro Department. Hell, I probably know the professor who was murdered." He swallowed. "I can help you, Detective. Take me with you. Please."

This was going to be trouble. He knew it and yet somehow, staring into those pleading blue eyes, Jim found himself helpless to refuse. He nodded slowly and when the elevator stopped at the garage, he led the way to his Jeep.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Suzanne Tomaki was waiting for Jim at the entrance to Hargrove Hall. She smiled when she saw him and raised a questioning eyebrow as she took in Sandburg trailing in his wake.

"Jim! I'm glad to see you again," she said and held out her hand. "Too bad it had to be under these circumstances."

"Hello, Suzanne." Jim shook her hand.

She glanced at Blair and asked, "New partner?"

"Ah. Suzanne, this is Blair Sandburg. He's--"

"A grad student in Anthropology." Blair smiled and stuck out his hand. "I'm observing Detective Ellison for an article I'm writing. When the call came in that someone in the department had been murdered, well..." He shrugged.

Jim shot him a startled glance, but let his statement stand. He'd have to sit the kid down and have a talk about misrepresentation when he had a chance to get him alone. Suzanne had turned to the double doors of the entrance and Jim followed her.

"Who's the victim?" he asked.

She stopped in the middle of the main hall and glanced briefly at Blair before answering. "Dr. David Thompson. Mrs. Ramey, the department secretary, found him in his office about 20 minutes ago and called us. One of my officers is sitting with her in the Chairman's office. I've got two more men outside Thompson's door to prevent anyone entering."

Jim glanced at Sandburg and frowned. The kid's eyes were closed and he was white as a sheet, his face a study in misery. Damn it. He'd said that he'd probably be familiar with the victim, but it looked like he'd known the guy pretty well. Jim reached out and lightly squeezed his shoulder. He was rewarded with a grateful glance and a small smile.

"You knew him, Chief?" he asked quietly.

He nodded. "Dr. Thompson was my advisor. He was the one who recommended me for the exhibit at the Museum after the original student in charge had to bow out. He knew I was short of cash and was trying to help me." He swallowed heavily. "He was such a gentle man. He always made time for his students and he loved anthropology. Why would anyone want to kill him?" He looked bewildered.

"I don't know, but that's what we're here to find out." Jim narrowed his eyes. "You can stay here, you know. There's really no reason for you to come with me to his office. In fact, it would probably be better if you didn't."

Blair shook his head and his expression hardened as he looked at Jim. "Yes, there is. Don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence that someone else connected with the exhibit was just murdered? I'm coming with you."

Jim gave a half-shrug. "All right, but you do what I tell you and don't touch anything. Forensics should be here soon and you'll need to stay back and out of their way."

He nodded.

Jim turned to Suzanne and gestured for her to lead the way.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair had thought that he was prepared for what he would see, but he was wrong. The abstract concept that his friend and advisor was dead was one thing, but the sight of Dr. Thompson's body crumpled on the floor with his neck twisted at an odd angle brought home the reality of what had happened. Someone had purposely done that to him. Murdered him. Taken his life with deliberate intent.

Blair felt his stomach heave and roll and he swallowed hard to keep down the bile. His hands were clammy and sweat broke out on his forehead. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth together in an effort to fight his reaction. Just as he thought he wasn't going to make it and would have to embarrass himself by running to the john to puke his guts out, he caught sight of Detective Ellison out of the corner of his eye.

The detective stood next to the body and appeared to be staring into space. His head was cocked as if he was concentrating on something, but the unnatural stillness of his body told Blair that something was very wrong. He was so still that it almost seemed as though he wasn't breathing. Blair's eyes widened as he recognized the condition as the same as that which Ellison had experienced earlier in the bullpen. He glanced around the room and saw that no one else had noticed yet that anything was wrong.

Blair casually stepped over to stand next to him. He put his hand on Ellison's arm trying to appear, should someone glance at them, as if he was simply asking the detective a question. In a soft voice he began to talk to the man, asking him to come back from wherever he'd gone. It took a bit longer this time than it had in the bullpen, but Blair finally felt a small tremor in the arm beneath his hand. And then suddenly Ellison was taking a deep, shuddering breath and blinking down at him, his eyes filled with questions.

"Easy, Detective," he said softly. "You were pretty far away. Want to tell me what happened?"

Ellison glanced around and then frowned down at the body on the floor in front of him. "Not here." He looked at Blair and sighed. "Thanks, Chief. I'll be okay now. Why don't you go back and stand by the door and I'll be with you in a few minutes."

"Are you sure?" He frowned.

"Yeah. I'm sure." Ellison smiled and Blair was surprised at the warmth directed his way from those pale blue eyes.

He removed his hand from Ellison's arm and reluctantly walked over to stand just outside the doorway and wait. His gaze never left the detective as he moved about, examining the body. He watched as Ellison lifted each of Dr. Thompson's hands and examined the fingertips, then gestured to a one of the Forensics techs. The tech pulled out a couple of plastic bags and fastened them securely over the doctor's hands. Ellison spoke to Suzanne Tomaki for several moments.

There had been something so familiar about the detective's little trips to la-la land and it frustrated Blair that he couldn't put his finger on what it was. He had the strongest feeling that he should be able to put a name to it.

Ellison turned and pulled the latex gloves off his hands as he walked over to where Blair was standing. He stepped out into the hallway, tilted his head towards the exit and placed a hand at the small of Blair's back to urge him forward. After a few moments his hand dropped and Blair found himself missing the warmth of the contact.

When they were outside in the fresh air, Blair stopped him with a hand on his arm. "What happened in there?"

Ellison glanced around them. "Let's find someplace where we can sit and talk. How about we go get some lunch, Chief? On me."

Blair frowned. "I'm not a charity case, man. You don't have to keep feeding me."

Ellison snorted. "I know I don't have to, but maybe I want to. You know, to say thank you for bringing me out of whatever that was without making a big deal out of it?" He glanced down at Blair and added lightly, "Besides, if you're going to be tagging along with me you're going to be doing it for free. Consider this partial payment for your help."

"Well...Wait. You're gonna let me help? For real, man?" He smiled brightly and bounced once on his toes. "That's great! Thanks. Okay, in that case, lunch is on you. Just lead the way."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim watched in amusement as Sandburg swallowed the last bite of his Wonderburger Special Hamburger and then reached for a few more french fries. For someone who'd been quick with a crack about Wonderburger being a heart attack disguised as a meal when they arrived, he'd dug into his food with enthusiasm. Jim watched in fascination as the pink tip of the kid's tongue flicked out to lick the last of the salt from the french fries off of his fingers. His imagination immediately conjured up parts of his anatomy that he'd be willing to salt if it would attract the same diligent attention from that tongue. He shifted in his chair and carefully averted his gaze.

"So, Detective, you ready to tell me what happened back there?"

Jim glanced at him and said, "I think we can dispense with the formality by now, don't you? Call me Jim."

Sandburg blushed and ducked his head. "Um, sure, J-Jim. So, what about it?"

He sighed softly. "I was looking at the bo--at Dr. Thompson, going through my usual examination of the scene, and I thought I smelled something familiar. I was trying to figure it out and then everything just seemed to blank out." He shrugged. "Next thing I know, there you are again, calling me back."

Sandburg shoved his straw around in his cup, playing with the ice at the bottom, his expression thoughtful. "You say you smelled something? Like at the station earlier?"

Jim shrugged. "I guess it was like that."

"Was it the same smell?"

"How should I know?" he asked irritably. "They were both so faint, I couldn't identify them."

"Jim, man, you said your senses have been acting up lately, right?" Sandburg watched him intently.

"Yeah. So? What's that got to do with knowing if they were the same smell?" He frowned. Where was the kid going with this?

Sandburg raised a hand and rubbed his forehead. "I know that I know this. Why can't I remember?" His eyes widened and he snapped his fingers. "Of course! Burton!"

"Burton?" Jim asked in bewilderment. "Burton who? What are you talking about?"

"Dr. Thompson gave me an article to read a while back about Sir Richard Burton, the Victorian era explorer not the actor. The Doc was a bit of a Burton-phile, collected everything about the guy that he could get his hands on. I never did get a chance to talk to him about the article. Anyway, it was about Burton's work and how so much of it had been destroyed by his wife after his death." He caught Jim's impatient look and hurried his words. "It mentioned a book that was originally thought to be among those she destroyed. There's some evidence that a few copies may still exist, though. Evidently Burton visited several South American tribes and found that they all had individuals that he called Sentinels. A Sentinel was supposed to be the watchman of his tribe and the reason someone was chosen to be a Sentinel was because he had a genetic advantage - enhanced senses. All five senses were supposedly enhanced to some degree. The book is purported to be about how a Sentinel functioned, how he worked his senses and helped protect his tribe."

Jim leaned back and narrowed his eyes. "Sounds like a fairy tale to me. A lot of 'supposed to be's' and speculation. You aren't seriously suggesting that I'm one of these Sentinels, are you?"

Blair sat up straight. "I don't know. You tell me. How many of your senses have been going crazy? I know about sight and smell. What about hearing? Have you been hearing things you couldn't possibly hear? Taste? Are you having trouble with spices? Oh, and what about a hyperactive tactile response?" At Jim's puzzled look, he added, "Extra sensitive touchy-feely lately?"

"Hey, that's none of your business." Jim thought about all of the things that had been happening to him and reluctantly came to the conclusion that maybe the kid was on the right track. "Let's say that all of that has been happening to me. What can I do about it? How do I get rid of them?"

He slumped back in his chair. "I don't know, man. That's the only reference I can recall ever having seen about this book. The information was sketchy at best and, really, it was just a brief mention in the article. If the book exists, well..." He raised his hands and shook his head. "But, look, I know there've been studies done with people who have one or two enhanced senses. You know, like perfume testers having a sensitive nose, oh, and the Western scouts during the Viet Nam war that had to change their diets to fish and rice because--"

"The Viet Cong could smell a Westerner by his waste." Jim nodded. He'd read about that. Those kinds of descriptions taken separately were believable. It was just the idea of all of his senses going haywire at once that was hard to take. "All right, so maybe it's not as far fetched as it sounds. Where do we go from here? I have to get a handle on them, get some kind of control. There's no way I can do my job or live my life like this." He sent a hopeful glance the kid's way. It was suddenly very important that Sandburg agree to help him.

"I know," he said softly. "I'll do my best to help you, Jim, I promise. I may not have all of the answers in my back pocket where I can pull them out as we need them, but I won't abandon you. But man, you have got to understand that I'm no expert."

Jim smiled. Blair was willing to help and that's all that he cared about at the moment. "I understand that, Darwin. You know, it's a relief just to be able to put a name to what I've been going through. I guess we'll just have to figure it out as we go." He frowned as a thought occurred to him. "What I don't understand is, if this is genetic shouldn't I have had the enhanced senses before this? Why am I just experiencing them now?"

Blair shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe they were dormant or possibly you repressed them for some reason. Or maybe you didn't need them before now. I have read that sometimes prolonged periods of isolation can affect the senses. Have you experienced anything like that recently?"

"Well, I was on stakeout by myself in the woods for over a week on the Switchman case. Come to think of it, the weird shit with my senses started happening right after that."

"Sounds like that brought your senses on-line, as it were. I doubt, now that they are on-line, that you'd be able to turn them off again." He rubbed his chin. "You know, I wouldn't be too quick to try and turn them back off, if I were you. Think of all of the things you could do, the benefits to your job. Man, you'd be like a walking biological crime lab."

"I don't need to be a crime lab. I do just fine as a plain old everyday detective, thank you very much. By the way," he said and raised an eyebrow, "what was that business that you spouted to Suzanne Tomaki? About riding along with me and writing an article?"

"Oh, well, you see, I figured a plausible cover story was probably better than coming   
right out and telling her that you're letting me help you investigate a murder." Blair   
played with a french fry, pushing it around on the tray. "Besides, I really could do   
that. Write an article, I mean. And I thought that if I did, then I could maybe qualify   
for some kind of official ride-along with you. I really should observe you on the job if   
I'm going to help you figure out how to use your senses." He glanced at Jim and smiled hopefully.

"I don't know, Chief." Jim hesitated. "I suppose we should try to get you a ride-along pass, make it all legal. But what kind of article are we talking about here? If I really am one of these Sentinels and can do all of the things you think I can, then I'm not sure I want that made public."

Blair shook his head. "No, man, I wouldn't do that to you. I honestly don't see how I could ever publish anything about you or the Sentinel stuff. Besides being just a bad idea to let the criminals know about your edge, well, I'll be way too personally involved to be objective. No, I was thinking more along the lines of, oh, maybe the police as a closed society. Or possibly, the thin blue line thing. 'Course I wouldn't call it that." He snorted at Jim's grimace. "Give me some credit, will ya? Anyway, the term may be cliched, but the idea is a good one. I've got other ideas, too. You know, maybe I could do a series of articles, all related." He looked thoughtful.

"All right. We'll see what we can do. First though, we need to solve this case and get   
you off of the suspects list. No way will Captain Banks approve having you ride along with me if we don't."

Blair smiled warmly. "We. I...I like the sound of that," he said softly.

Jim nodded and smiled in return. "Me too, Chief. Me too." Yeah, he did like the sound of it, even if he was a bit stunned by how quickly they'd come to this.

"What did you find on Dr. Thompson's hands?"

"There was some skin under his fingernails. I think he may have tried to fight off his attacker. I had Forensics bag his hands so the evidence wouldn't be disturbed."

Blair rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you think the two murders are related?"

"I don't know yet. Like you said earlier, they were both involved with the exhibit. That may just be a coincidence, but I'd be a fool if I didn't consider it." He frowned slightly. "Did Dr. Thompson suggest assigning Sampson to you?"

He shook his head and gazed down at the table. "No. I was allowed to pick my assistant. I'm the one who chose Mike."

"You didn't kill him, Chief," Jim said softly. "It's not your fault."

Blair looked at Jim sharply. "How did you know I was feeling like that?"

He just shrugged and smiled.

"Thanks, man."

Jim crumpled their empty food wrappers together and rose to his feet, tossing the wrappers into the open trash bin a couple of aisles over. "Ready to get to work?"

"Sure." Blair followed him out to the Jeep. "Where are we going?"

"You still have the keys to Sampson's place?" Jim asked.

"Yeah. I forgot to drop them off while we were at Rainier."

"I want to take a look around." He held up a hand to stop the kid's protest. "I'm not accusing Sampson of anything, Chief. It's procedure to check out as much about the victim as I can. If there was something in his life that caused the killer to target him, I need to know it. I'll be checking Dr. Thompson out, too."

Blair climbed into the passenger seat and nodded. "I guess I see your point."

Jim glanced at him. "If you're really going to help me with this investigation, you're going to have to try to distance yourself from your emotions about Sampson and Thompson. I'm not asking you to stop feeling. Just try to be objective about the evidence. Otherwise, you'll end up missing something that could be important. I know it's hard, but if you can't do that then I'll have no choice but to put an end to this partnership before it starts." He held his breath as he watched the kid process what he'd just told him. Sandburg's face was like an open book; everything he thought and felt was reflected there for all to see. Jim could tell when he'd come to his decision and he let his breath out in relief. He knew before the kid said anything that he agreed.

"I understand. I'll do my best, Jim." Blair smiled shyly. "Just give me a nudge if I stray, okay?"

"Okay," Jim agreed with a smile.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim pulled the Jeep into the driveway of Sampson's warehouse. Several buildings shared the same address and Sampson's was building "C." He parked the Jeep and they got out.

"Where's the entrance?" He frowned at the padlocked loading dock facing them.

"Around the side. It's the only door that isn't padlocked or barred, so far as I know. There's a regular lock and deadbolt on it." Blair pointed to the left side of the building.

They walked around the corner and saw the door standing open. Jim grabbed Blair's arm and motioned for him to keep quiet and stay behind him. He handed the kid the keys to his Jeep and pulled his gun out of his shoulder holster.

"I want you to stay here. My cell phone's on the fritz and I'm waiting for a replacement, so I don't have a phone I can give you. If you don't hear me call you in a few minutes or if you hear sounds of a fight or a gun going off you hightail it out of here and find a payphone and call for backup. Just dial 911 and tell them that an officer's in trouble and give them the address. You understand?" he asked quietly.

Blair nodded unhappily. "Yeah, I understand," he replied just as quietly. "Be careful."

Jim nodded once and headed for the open door. He eased his way into the warehouse, sticking to the shadows. His eyes adjusted automatically to the gloom and he was amazed to find that he could see into the darkest corners as clearly as if they were brightly lit. Maybe this Sentinel stuff would come in useful after all, he thought.

He didn't see anyone as he silently made his way through the open area. A rustling off to the left caught his attention and he focused in that direction, unconsciously straining to hear what it was. He reeled back when he heard a light thumping noise, similar to what he'd heard at the Museum, but higher in pitch and much, much faster. A heartbeat, he thought dazedly. It had to be a heartbeat. But what?

_"I'm not sure the space makes up for the rats, though."_

He could hear Blair's voice saying those words and it steadied him. My God, he thought incredulously, was he really hearing a rat's heartbeat? From the other side of the warehouse? He shook his head, but that was the only thing that fit. Suddenly the sound of an alarm going off in one of the other warehouses shrilled the air, piercing his ears and sending him to his knees in agony. His gun clattered to the floor as he clutched at his head in an effort to stave off the pain.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair stood where Jim had left him and waited for the signal that it was all right for him to enter the warehouse. Nervously he shifted his weight from foot to foot, impatient to do something. He hated having been left behind and felt a strong urge to rush into the warehouse and make sure that Jim was okay.

Blair was no fool. He didn't like violence and he'd never thought of himself as particularly brave, though he didn't consider himself a coward either. He'd just never deliberately sought out situations that called for physical courage, preferring to deal with life as it happened. Going into that warehouse without hearing Jim call for him was a foolhardy idea. And yet, it was taking everything Blair had in him to keep from doing just that. The longer he stood there, the stronger the urge became. Something was wrong. He didn't know what finally broke his stasis, but suddenly he found himself standing in the shadows just inside the warehouse door.

He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. It was too dark for him to see much so he was grateful to be familiar with the place. Faint light filtered in from the painted-over windows high in the rafters. The low illumination finally allowed him to see shapes and as he looked across the warehouse he saw Jim kneeling on the floor, hands clasped to his ears.

Blair rushed across the open expanse and skidded to a halt next to him. He knelt down and cautiously tried to pry the man's hands away from his head. Jim moaned in pain and resisted the movement. He acted like he was hurt, but Blair couldn't see an obvious injury. What the hell had happened? He hadn't heard the sound of a struggle or seen anyone run out of the warehouse, so how had Jim been injured?

"Jim?" he whispered, "what's wrong?"

The detective flinched back when he spoke as if the sound was too much for him. Blair's eyes widened as he realized that Jim was experiencing a problem with his hearing. Problem. That was putting it mildly. Not a blank spell, though. No, this was more like some kind of sensory spike. Something must have triggered it and now Jim couldn't get control. He'd worry about the cause later, he thought. The first thing was to help him. But how?

Blair chewed on his lower lip and reached out to cover each of Jim's hands with his own. "Jim," he whispered in the softest voice he could manage while trying to sound as though he knew what he was talking about, "I know that your hearing is very painful right now, but you need to listen to me. I can help you get your control back. I want you to lower your hands and open your eyes and look at me. Can you do that for me?"

Blair waited patiently until Jim nodded once and slowly lowered his hands. He kept his own hands grasped firmly around Jim's as they came down. Jim's eyelids fluttered open and Blair stared into his bleary blue eyes and smiled encouragingly.

"That's good, Jim," he whispered in the same soft tone. Now what do I do, he wondered frantically? The odd image of an old fashioned radio popped into his head, prompting a crazy idea. "All right. I want you to picture a row of dials, like on an old analog radio? Each dial has a label for one of your senses. Right now the hearing dial is turned way up. Can you find the dial for your hearing?"

Jim nodded.

"Good. What's it set at?"

"Nine," Jim gritted out through his clenched teeth.

"Ouch. That's gotta hurt, man. Okay, here's what I want you to do. I want you to grab hold of that dial and turn it down until sounds don't hurt anymore. All right?"

Jim closed his eyes and an expression of intense concentration crossed his face. A few moments later his expression eased and the lines of pain around his mouth and eyes smoothed away. He sighed.

"Better?" Blair asked, his voice still soft, but not as low as it had been.

"Oh yeah." Jim smiled sweetly at Blair. "Thanks Chief. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Blair felt an odd warmth in his chest. He swallowed heavily and smiled. "I'm glad it worked. What's the dial set at now, Jim?"

"Six."

"Is your hearing back to normal?"

Jim frowned. "Not really. Things are still a bit loud, but it doesn't hurt. You sound normal, though."

"That's because I'm speaking more softly than I usually do. I'm going to speak in a normal tone of voice and I want you to lower the dial until I sound right to you." He waited for Jim to nod before continuing, "You know, next time I'm not staying outside. I knew there was something wrong and if I hadn't come in here who knows how--"

"You'll do what I tell you, when I tell you, Chief," Jim cut in. "You're sounding normal, by the way."

Blair shook his head. The man was too stubborn for his own good. It probably wouldn't do any good to argue with him, but Blair planned on using his own judgement in the future. "All right. You did good Jim. I think we can use the imagery of the dials to help you control all of your senses."

Jim looked down and smiled crookedly. Blair realized that they'd been holding hands all this time and abruptly let go. He flushed and pushed himself up off the floor, brushing his hands off on his jeans. Jim stood and searched the floor, then stooped to pick up his gun and put it in his holster. He cocked his head and looked at Blair.

"Why can't I just use the dials to keep the senses turned down to 'normal?' Why bother doing anything other than that?"

"Yeah, you could do that." Blair crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the older man calmly. "Of course, if you don't practice with them and know what it feels like when they do spike into the painful range, you won't be able to get control back when it happens. And it will happen. Besides, think of all of the advantages they could give you when you're investigating a crime."

"Such as?" Jim challenged.

"Such as," Blair said and glanced around the warehouse, "what you were doing when your hearing spiked. You were trying to hear if someone else was in here, weren't you?"

Jim nodded a bit reluctantly.

"All right. Try it again. This time, with control." He reached out and placed a hand on Jim's arm. "I'm here and I'll make sure you're not hurt."

"How?"

Blair grinned. "Turn the dial up, man. How else? Look, just move it up slowly, a setting at a time. Stop at each setting and try to figure out what you can hear. Don't go above eight."

Jim tilted his head and frowned. "Okay, I've got it set at five now. It's still pretty normal, nothing more than what I was hearing. Now it's at six. I can hear some rustling noises on the other side of the warehouse. I think they may be the rats you mentioned." He glanced at Blair. "I...I think I hear you. I hear the air rushing in and out of your lungs as you breathe."

"That's incredible. Go up another notch."

"Seven. I hear some tiny creaks in the structure. Very faint." He frowned again. "That thumping noise is back again."

"Thumping noise?" Blair asked in confusion. "What thumping noise?"

"I heard it several times at the Museum. It would start up and then fade out again. I hear it now." Jim glanced sharply at Blair and his eyes widened. He reached up, placed his fingers against the pulse at the hollow of Blair's throat and whispered, "It's you. Your heartbeat. I've been hearing your heartbeat, Chief."

"That's so cool, man!" Blair thought for a moment and then frowned. "You mean you heard my heartbeat at the Museum yesterday? How do you know that it was my heartbeat and not someone else's?"

Jim shook his head. "No. It's the same. I know. I...I recognize it somehow. I heard it there before I met you. There were a couple of times where I think I almost blanked out and your heartbeat helped prevent it. Only I didn't know it was a heartbeat. I thought someone was playing some weird tribal drums or something."

Blair let go of Jim's arm and stepped back, shaking his head. "No, man, you must be wrong about that. I mean, you probably did hear someone's heartbeat. I believe you about that. It's just, it must have been someone else."

"Why are you having a hard time with this, Chief?" Jim frowned.

"I-I'm not, exactly. I...Look, this is a lot to take in all at once, you know. I'm sure that you're feeling kinda overwhelmed. I know I sure as hell am." He held up his hands. "Maybe we ought to concentrate on why we're here, you know? Leave the other stuff for later." Much later, he thought. Jim had asked a good question, though; why did it bother him so much? The idea that Jim had heard his heartbeat and it had kept him grounded before he'd even met Blair was spooky and it almost smacked of predestination. Blair shook his head. He'd always believed that he determined the path his life would take and hated the thought that anyone or anything else could pull his strings.

Jim raised an eyebrow and said calmly, "All right, if that's the way you want it. We're the only ones here. So, where's this living space that you said Sampson made?"

He pointed over to what looked like a stack of pallets in the far corner. "He didn't want to spend a lot of money on real walls since the owner refused to take anything off of his rent for improvements, so he collected a bunch of used pallets and stacked them up to create makeshift walls."

Jim strode over to the pallets and stopped short at the opening between them. "Is this normal?"

"Huh?" Blair peered around the bigger man and his eyes widened at the destruction of the small living space. "Oh man, that is not how I left this place this morning. Mike was pretty neat and I didn't want to leave any kind of mess since I didn't know who would eventually come pick up his stuff. It might not have been exactly sterile, but it was straightened up. This looks like a hurricane blew through." He started to move around Jim into the room, but the detective caught his arm and drew him back into the open warehouse.

"Sorry, Chief, but you can't go in there. I have to call this in and have Forensics go over the place." He glanced around and frowned. "No phone?"

"Ah, nope. Mike figured he could use the payphone down the street and didn't want to spend extra money on a phone in here. I never quite figured that out, really, but maybe the $850 for the place had him stretched a bit thin." He shrugged.

Jim shook his head and sighed. "All right. Come on, we'll drive over to the pay phone and then come back and wait for a car to come by and secure the scene."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair waited in the Jeep while Jim talked to the officers who arrived in response to his call. Were Mike and Dr. Thompson's murders really related? If they were, it had to be through the exhibit at the Museum. But what could there possibly be about the exhibit that was worth killing over? He frowned. It just didn't add up. Blair had scanned the list of artifacts when he'd received it and there was nothing on the list that was particularly valuable. If the exhibit wasn't the catalyst for the murders, then where did that leave them?

Jim nodded at the officers and headed for the Jeep. Blair glanced at him curiously when he climbed inside.

"What now?" he asked.

"Now we go over to Dr. Thompson's place. When I called this in I checked with my department. Evidently Dr. Thompson lived alone. An officer's at the house now keeping it secure for me. "

Blair watched the road out the passenger window. He'd never been to Dr. Thompson's home. If asked, he wouldn't even have been able to say what part of town the man lived in, but he wouldn't have expected the kind of neighborhood they were soon driving through. Unless the good doctor had some family money or some source of income beyond the University, then he was living well beyond the salary of an anthropology professor, even for a private university like Rainier. As Jim pulled the Jeep into a long circular driveway, Blair stared, open-mouthed.

"What's up, Chief?" Jim asked and raised his eyebrows.

Blair gestured at the impressive two-story house in front of them. It wasn't a mansion, by any means, but it was still a beautifully designed home. "Was Dr. Thompson independently wealthy or something? I don't care how long he'd been at Rainier, there's no way he could afford that on a professor's salary."

"Hmm. Good question. Guess we'll put that at the top of the list of things to verify." Jim smiled at him and Blair could feel a blush spread across his cheeks.

Once inside the house, Blair followed Jim as he made his way from room to room. He was curious as to how Jim worked, what he would find important and what he would dismiss. It was a lot like an archaeological dig, he thought. One needed to reconstruct what a site meant and how people lived there; it was just that this site was much more recent than he was used to. He grinned to himself.

They came to a room on the ground floor that was obviously an office and stepped inside. Blair was surprised that it seemed so cold and empty. He'd have expected shelves full of books and artifacts. It was completely out of place for the man he'd known. Ruefully, Blair admitted to himself that maybe he hadn't known his advisor as well as he thought he had. He felt Jim staring at him and looked up from the desk.

"Something bothering you, Chief?" He raised an eyebrow.

Blair shrugged. "Maybe. It's just that this room seems so sterile somehow. I mean, sure, it's a typical office." He gestured at the desk and filing cabinets. "You have your desk and computer and filing cabinets and junk. But, there's nothing personal. Dr. Thompson was an anthropologist. He'd been an anthropologist for years. I have to tell you that this is not what I'd have described if you asked me what his personal office would be like."

Jim crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head. He jutted his chin at Blair and said, "Go on. What would you expect to find?"

He hesitated. "Well, I'd expect these walls to be lined with books, for one thing. And there should be artifacts in here. Oh, not necessarily anything expensive, but certainly mementos from digs and cultural expeditions. We tend to like to have the physical evidence of our profession surrounding us. I think most anthropologists are really secretly part packrat." He smiled slightly. "This room looks like it belongs to someone else. A businessman or something."

Jim looked around the room again as if seeing it through Blair's eyes. "I wonder..." his words trailed off as he approached the two-drawer filing cabinet. He opened the top drawer and looked through the neatly hanging folders. "Bills," he muttered.

He pulled the bottom drawer open and flipped through the folders in it. "Hmm. This is different."

Blair stood next to him and looked down into the drawer. Puzzled, he glanced up at Jim. "What? I don't understand."

He gestured at the top drawer. "This is full of personal bills. Electric company, mortgage, credit cards. That kind of thing. These," he gestured at the files in the second drawer, "are investments. Companies that he invested in. Stock and so forth."

"Guess that explains the house, then, huh?" Blair felt relieved.

Jim shook his head. He slid several of the folders open and glanced through their contents. "I don't think so, Chief. It looks like these investments all started around the same time. I haven't seen a single stock purchase date prior to a year ago."

Blair frowned. "Well, couldn't that mean that he came into some money or something? Maybe an inheritance?"

"Maybe. That'll be easy enough to check. It's just another piece of the puzzle." Jim turned to the desk.

Blair watched as he methodically opened drawer after drawer and briefly riffled through the contents. He pulled what looked like a ledger book out of the bottom drawer and dropped it onto the blotter. As he flipped through the ledger he gave a low whistle.

"What?" Blair peeked around his shoulder to get a look at the book, but the list of numbers were meaningless to him. "I don't understand."

Jim shook his head. "I'm not sure I do, either. Whatever this is, there are a lot of transactions and they're all coded. This isn't a record of legitimate investments, Chief. No one would go to the trouble of putting those into code, especially not when they've filed the receipts in an unlocked cabinet in the same room."

"So, what is it?" He stared at the book.

"You got me. But whatever it is, it's worth looking at further." He closed the ledger and picked it up. Blair frowned and trailed after him as he headed for the stairs.

Upstairs were the bedrooms. Each room contained a standard set of furniture: bed, dresser, and nightstand. Nothing personal, nothing incriminating. Blair became more and more confused with each room they entered. Where was the personality of the man he'd known? Even the room that appeared to be the master bedroom stumped him. There were a few personal photos, some of faculty and students at Rainier that Blair recognized, and a couple of books stood on the nightstand, but it still seemed barren. It wasn't until they walked through the door at the end of the hall that Blair felt that he recognized his professor.

As they walked into the room that most would call a library, Blair sighed. It was twice as large as the master bedroom. Large enough that he figured that this room had originally been intended as the master suite, but Dr. Thompson had had it reworked. Books lined each wall, floor-to-ceiling, flowing around windows. The was no wall space for artifacts, but they shared the shelves with the books. One or two slightly larger pieces were placed on tiny display tables. A small desk stood in the middle of the room and two comfortable looking easy chairs sat in out of the way places, curved floor lamps next to them to provide illumination.

Blair blinked as he walked slowly past the shelves, mesmerized by the sheer number of rare volumes. Occasionally he reached out to gently touch the spine of a particular book, only to snatch his hand away. His rapt attention was so focused on the incredible room he was in that he was oblivious to the fact that Jim was watching him. The intensity of the detective's regard would have flustered and confused him. Suddenly, he caught his breath and stopped in front of one of the shelves. He reached out a hand, but didn't touch the book at which he was staring. Instead, his hand hovered in the air just in front of it as if frozen.

"Chief?"

"Huh?"

"Find something?" A warm hand clasped his shoulder and gave a slight shake. "You with me, Chief?"

Blair flushed. He reached for the book and pulled it off the shelf. "Do you know what this is, Jim?" He stared down at the heavy book, now held reverently in his hands.

"Can't say as I do," came the slightly amused reply. "Want to enlighten me?"

He balanced the book on one hand and forearm and lightly slid his palm over the cover. He raised his eyes to gaze at Jim and said, "It's Burton's book, Jim. _The Sentinels of Paraguay._ Dr. Thompson has a copy of Burton's Sentinel book. It's real."

"I thought you said that it didn't exist?" Jim stared at the book in Blair's hands.

He shook his head. "No. The article said that it was thought to have been destroyed, but that there was evidence that some copies might still exist." He glanced around the room. "I told you that Dr. Thompson was a Burton-phile. There's a lot of Burton memorabilia in this room. I wonder if he'd have shown me this book if I'd had the chance to talk to him about that article?"

Jim shook his head. "Guess you'll never know, Chief. I'm sorry."

He shrugged and asked, "Do you think it would be all right to borrow this? We should read through it and see if it contains anything that could help you. Who knows if we'll ever get a chance like this again?"

"Normally I'd say no, but I think I can swing it. I'll just have to make a note in my report that I've got it, in case there're any questions. And we'll have to make sure that it gets returned safely."

Blair nodded and smiled. He hugged the book close, unwilling to set it down while they examined the rest of the room. It really was quite an incredible place. It was obvious that Dr. Thompson hadn't just spent money on the house. His personal collection contained quite a few rare and expensive volumes. However, there appeared to be nothing else of interest to Jim's investigation in the room.

Still clutching the book, Blair followed Jim out to the Jeep. As they exited the house he noticed with dismay that the sky was darkening with evening twilight. Damn it, he thought, he'd never make it to the city shelters in time to get a cot. He couldn't go back to the warehouse, even if he'd wanted to -- it was taped off as a crime scene. That left a single unpalatable option and he shuddered at the thought of sleeping on the streets. He was so caught up in trying to figure out where he was going to spend the night that he didn't notice when the Jeep came to a stop in front of an unimposing building.

"You coming?"

"What?" He glanced at Jim and frowned.

"I asked if you were planning on coming up or if you just wanted to sit in the Jeep all night?" Jim asked, amusement in his voice.

"Up?"

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. "This is where I live, Darwin. So, you coming or not?" He got out and headed for the entrance.

Jim's place? Blair scrambled out of the Jeep to follow him only to stop when Jim called back over his shoulder, "You might want to bring your stuff with you." He shook his head and turned back to grab his duffel bag and backpack, then trotted over to the door where the detective was patiently waiting with a small smile on his face.

"Got everything?" he asked.

Blair nodded, still not quite sure what was going on. They entered the building and rode up to the third floor in a very slow elevator. Jim unlocked the door to #307 and stepped inside, holding it open for Blair. He walked in and stopped, staring about him in fascination, still clutching the book, backpack and duffel bag.

The place was open and airy and...empty. He frowned slightly and glanced at Jim before looking around again. Maybe it was logical, he thought. Someone who was having trouble with his senses wouldn't want a lot of potential sensory triggers around him. Hence the bareness of the place. It's just that it didn't fit his impression of the man's personality. He gave a mental shrug and wondered what he was supposed to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate First Meeting. Slashy content, mature themes and bad language.
> 
> "When they met, it was murder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted July 2002

Jim watched the kid as he nervously took in the loft. What was he thinking? He looked around and tried to picture the place from Sandburg's point of view. Not really much of anything to give a clue about the person who lived there, he thought, feeling slightly depressed. He hadn't really worried much about that before. Even for the brief time that Carolyn had lived there the loft hadn't been much different. They had both been busy with their work and neither had a lot of time for things like decorating. Maybe that was one of the problems with their marriage; they were both more concerned about their work than they were about their life together. He shook his head and headed for the kitchen.

"You want a beer?" he asked as he opened the fridge.

"Beer? Uh, yeah, that sounds good."

Sandburg was still standing in the middle of the room, holding his stuff when he brought the opened beer bottle over to him. He seemed a bit befuddled, so Jim put the two beers down on the kitchen table and reached out and took the strap of the duffel bag from him.

"Come on," he said and nudged him in the direction of his spare room. "You can put your stuff in here for now."

The room was bare of furniture and lacking a door. A few boxes were stacked up against one wall and a half-full laundry basket sat on top of an overturned empty plastic crate. Jim dropped the duffel bag on the floor just to the left of the open doorway. He waited while Blair propped his backpack next to it. He smiled to himself when he noticed that the kid kept hold of the book. Blair followed Jim back out to the kitchen and accepted the beer from him.

"Let's go sit down, okay?"

They sat next to each other on the couch and he wasn't surprised when Sandburg turned and looked at him searchingly.

"Jim? Why are we here?"

"Well," he said slowly, "it's just about dinner time. I don't have a lot of food in the kitchen right now, but I thought we could call in a pizza or something. I don't know about you, but I'd like to relax, maybe watch a little TV before calling it a day. How's that sound to you?"

Blair frowned. "You know, you don't have to--"

"You're not spending the night in some shelter, Chief," Jim cut in flatly. "Besides, it's too late to get a spot anyway. I know you're short on cash and there's no way I'm letting you sleep on the street."

"I--"

"There's nothing more to say, Sandburg. I've got a perfectly usable couch. And you're not putting me out, if you're concerned about that." He smiled in satisfaction as the kid's mouth snapped shut and he let a touch of amusement creep into his voice. "Besides, from the way you're clinging to that book, I didn't think you'd want to get too far away from it."

Sandburg flushed and carefully placed the book on the coffee table. He glared at Jim and in a deliberate move, tipped his beer bottle up and took a long swig. Jim fought not to laugh at him.

"So, whaddaya say -- pizza okay with you?"

"Pizza's good, man."

"Combination all right?" Jim asked and headed for the kitchen to pick up the phone.

"That's fine, as long as there're no anchovies." Blair scrunched up his nose. "I don't understand why people insist on ruining a perfectly good pizza by dumping little hairy fish on top of it."

"Right, no anchovies," he said and chuckled. He ordered the pizza and returned to the couch. "It'll be about a half hour."

They sat and drank their beers in relative silence. Jim noticed how the kid's gaze kept straying to the book on the table.

"Listen, you knew Dr. Thompson. What did you think of his place?"

"Well, if you'd asked me just yesterday to describe him," Blair replied slowly, "I would have said that Dr. Thompson was the stereotypical anthropology professor. He seemed dedicated to his field and his students, in that order."

"And now?" Jim prompted.

"Now...I don't know what to say. With the exception of the library I didn't recognize anything in that house as having to do with Dr. Thompson. In fact, if you hadn't told me it was his place I never would have guessed it on my own. I don't understand." He frowned and shook his head.

"That surprises you." He made it a statement.

Blair nodded. "How many people do you know who can compartmentalize their lives like that? I mean, the only place that was alive in that house was the library. Most people wouldn't be able to keep something like that, the part of their lives that they love, from spilling out into their living space, especially if they lived alone. It's just really...odd."

Jim nodded. It was odd. Who knew what Thompson's reasons had been? It was possible that the only one who could answer that question was Thompson himself, in which case the answer had more than likely died with him. And what did it all have to do with the man's murder? Jim thought about the pages of numbers in the ledger he'd brought home and sighed to himself. Very odd indeed, he thought.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

The pizza had been decimated along with another beer each. They'd switched to bottled water after that; Jim wanted to keep a clear head and Sandburg appeared to be a bit of a lightweight where alcohol was concerned. Jim turned on the TV, happened on the first Lethal Weapon movie while flipping channels and by mutual agreement they decided to watch it.

A third of the way through the movie Sandburg crashed, slumping over until he leaned against Jim. He glanced down in surprise at the curly head resting against his shoulder. The kid was sound asleep. If he left him in his current position he'd have a hell of a crick in his neck later. Convincing himself that he was merely being altruistic, Jim grabbed one of the throw pillows and placed it on his lap. Then he edged his way carefully into the corner of the couch, encouraging Blair to slide along with him until he was stretched out comfortably with his head on the pillow. Much better, Jim thought as he lowered the volume on the TV. Absently he stroked the soft curls while he watched the rest of the movie.

He clicked the TV off and sat in the dark for awhile. His life had certainly taken an interesting turn and it all seemed to be tied up with the young man sleeping oh so peacefully on his couch. He gazed down thoughtfully at the dark head resting on the pillow on his lap. Sandburg hadn't connected the fact that Jim's senses had appeared at about the same time that he himself had returned to Cascade. And that stuff with the dials? Jim knew that he'd come up with that out of thin air, but it had worked, hadn't it? Blair might not want to believe that he was part of this sentinel thing, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. After all, the kid hadn't wanted to believe that it was his heartbeat that Jim had heard at the Museum. It might all be coincidence, but Jim had a feeling that something important was happening between them. He yawned. Whatever it was, though, it could wait for the morning for him to try and sort it out.

He eased himself out from under Blair's head, adding a couple more pillows for his comfort. The kid muttered querulously and shifted about until he seemed satisfied with sleeping on his stomach, head turned in toward the couch. Jim smiled, pulled the old blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him. One more gentle caress to that silky hair and he reluctantly turned away. He picked up the book from the coffee table and headed for the stairs.

He stripped to his boxers and slid under the covers with a sigh. For the first time in a week the sheets were soft against his skin instead of scratching the hell out of him and he mentally thanked Sandburg one more time for the dials. He opened the book and began to read, flipping past most of the descriptions of tribal life and customs, stopping only at the parts that spoke directly about the Sentinels that Burton had met. The more he read, the more his thoughts turned to the young man asleep on the couch downstairs. Finally, satisfied that he'd learned what he wanted to know, he put the book on his nightstand and shut off the light. Jim turned the dial up slightly on his hearing and fell asleep with a smile on his face, listening to the calm, steady thrum of Blair's heart.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair turned over on his back and sighed. He was warm and comfortable and something smelled great. Coffee. And eggs? He blinked and looked around curiously. Where was he? He sat straight up as he realized that he'd fallen asleep on Jim's couch.

"Hey sunshine," Jim called, amusement in his voice, "'bout time you woke up. Breakfast is almost ready."

Blair stood, folded the blanket and frowned at it in confusion. The last thing he remembered was starting to watch some movie with Jim. Oh yeah, Lethal Weapon. He shook his head and followed his nose into the kitchen.

Jim gestured at the counter behind him. "There's a coffee mug with your name on it, Chief."

"Oh man, you're a life saver." He smiled and poured a cup of coffee, closing his eyes as he inhaled the heady aroma.

"Thought you might want some this morning." Jim opened a cabinet and pulled out a couple of plates. He dished up the eggs and added slices of buttered toast to each plate.

Blair followed him to the kitchen table and sat down. They dug into their eggs and toast, the food and coffee helping him to wake fully.

"This is really good, Jim," he said shyly. "Thanks."

"No problem." He shrugged. "Listen, Sandburg, I need to head into the station for a bit. Simon called and he wants an update on my cases and I want to drop that ledger off at Forensics. It might be a good idea to limit your exposure in the department until we have your ride-along approved. I thought you could hang out here and take a look at Burton's book while I'm gone. I'll drop back by here and pick you up when I'm ready to head out."

Blair sipped his coffee and then nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I'd really like the chance to go through the book and take some notes. I'm hoping that he made some observations that will help you get the control you need."

"Yeah, uh, that's good then." Jim picked up the empty plates and carried them into the kitchen to put them in the sink.

Blair frowned. For someone who'd been so concerned about being in control yesterday, Jim didn't seem to be too worried about it at the moment. He felt like he was swimming through mud. There was so much about this whole sentinel thing that he just didn't understand. He fervently hoped that Burton had not only observed true Sentinels at work, but that he'd recorded his observations in a way that would prove useful. Modern anthropologists considered so much of Burton's work quaint and out-of-date that it was doubtful whether he'd glean much that they could use from the book.

He headed into the kitchen and reached for one of the dirty plates. "Here, I'll wash these. It's the least I can do, man." He glanced up at him and smiled.

"All right, Chief. Thanks." Jim trotted up the stairs, calling back over his shoulder. "Help yourself to the shower. The towels are in the linen closet next to the bathroom. I shouldn't be all that long."

Several hours later, Blair raised his arms over his head and stretched, sighing in relief as his back cracked. He'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor between the coffee table and the couch, reading _The Sentinels of Paraguay_ and taking notes, since he'd gotten out of the shower. The book was fascinating. Most of his reading of Burton had consisted of excerpts and quotations. As well as the obligatory unexpurgated translations of the Arabian Nights and the Kama Sutra, he thought with a grin. Every anthropology undergrad eventually found his or her way into the library stacks and read those. Nothing had prepared him for this book, though.

 

_The Sentinels of Paraguay_ contained very little of the flowery Victorian prose that tended to permeate Burton's other works. On the contrary, so straightforward was the text, it could almost be a modern study of an ancient culture. Almost. There was one area where Burton's romantic leanings stuck out to Blair like a sore thumb and that was the portion of the narrative that dealt with the observations of the Sentinels and their partners, who Burton referred to as Guides. He shook his head over phrases like _'the Elders speak of the predestination of the connection between the Sentinel and his Guide'_ and _'their bond is strong, both physical and mystical in nature and encompasses so much more than simply the training of the Sentinel's senses.'_ And of course, there was his absolute favorite, _'the pair are inseparable, closer than mere lovers, the awareness of one for the other defies ordinary examination.'_

Blair snorted softly. Yeah, right. A Sentinel with a predestined Guide to watch his back. At least he now had a name for the blank spells that Jim was experiencing. Burton referred to them as "zone outs", an oddly modern-sounding name, but one that seemed to fit. It was the responsibility of the Guide to bring the Sentinel out of the zone. Unfortunately Burton hadn't described in any detail how that was accomplished. They'd just have to experiment and figure out for themselves what worked best. He suddenly thought uneasily about Jim's assertion that he'd heard Blair's heartbeat at the Museum and that it had brought him out of his near zone outs.

He stood and stretched again before walking over to the balcony. The view was outstanding and Blair could understand why Jim had chosen this place. He opened the doors, stepped outside and let his mind wander. It seemed as though Jim was used to working alone. He shook his head. That was going to have to change. Jim would have to decide who at work that he felt comfortable enough with to let in on the situation with his senses and then Blair would do his best to help them cope until they didn't need him around. It would be disastrous for Jim to continue to work without a partner. Oddly depressed at the thought of someone else helping the detective, Blair turned abruptly and stepped back into the loft, closing the glass doors behind him just as a key turned in the lock.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said with a smile. He glanced at the notes spread over the coffee table and then back at Blair. "Looks like you've been busy."

He nodded. "Yeah. There's a lot of good stuff in there, even if it may not seem like it's all relevant. At least it gives us a basis for what you're going through and a place to start."

"Did you manage to get through the whole thing?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "I really should return it to Thompson's library."

"Yeah. I went over it as thoroughly as I could. It's possible that I missed something, but I tried to be careful." He shrugged. "Burton's given a pretty good description of what the Sentinels that he met could do, but it isn't an operator's manual, you know? We'll still have to figure most things out as we go."

Jim cocked his head. "So, you ready to head out?"

"Just let me get my backpack, man." He scooped up the book and headed for the small storage room to grab his pack. As he followed Jim out the front door he asked, "Where're we going first?"

"We'll return the book. Then we're going to Rainier. I want a closer look at Thompson's office." He closed and locked the door behind them.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

As they drove up the circular drive and stopped in front of the house, Blair could feel Jim tense beside him. The yellow tape sealing the house was intact and it looked like it did yesterday when they'd left.

"What's wrong, Jim?"

The detective shook his head. "I don't know, exactly. I just had the oddest sensation."

"What?" Blair raised an eyebrow and gazed at him.

"This is going to sound crazy, but I have the feeling that someone's been here." He stared at the house with a frown.

"Been here? Or are they still here?" Blair glanced out the window. "What is it that's giving you this feeling?"

"I don't know, Chief." He shrugged helplessly.

Blair turned to face him. "Jim, your senses must be giving you some sort of clues to make you feel this way. You may not be recognizing them, but they're there. I bet a lot of hunches are just reactions to signals that people process without even realizing that they're taking them in."

"Could be," he replied, "but we don't have time to sit around and think about it right now." He got out, went around the Jeep and opened the passenger door. "Come on Chief, let's go."

The moment they entered the house Blair could feel Jim tense again. The detective pulled his gun out of the holster at his back and put his arm out to stop Blair from moving beyond him. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as if listening for something, and then relaxed slightly.

"What is it, Jim?" Blair asked quietly. He noted that the gun stayed in Jim's hand.

"For a moment there I could have sworn that someone was here."

He placed a hand on Jim's arm. "What is it that made you think that?" At the man's frown he said, "Did you hear something out of place?"

Jim shook his head. "There's no one here but us. I just checked."

He nodded. "Okay. It wasn't hearing. I want you to fix in your mind the way the house was yesterday while we were here. Does anything look out of place?"

Blair watched in fascination as the Sentinel performed a visual sweep of the entry and room beyond. Jim shook his head in frustration.

"Not sight then either. What about smell? Take a breath and filter out the smells that were here yesterday. Is there anything left?"

Jim closed his eyes and a slight frown marred his forehead. Suddenly his eyes opened wide and he stared at Blair. "It's that same scent. The one I smelled at Rainier. I didn't smell it here yesterday."

He swallowed and nodded. "Good, Jim. Can you follow the scent and figure out what rooms were entered?"

The detective's head went up and his nostril's flared. He sniffed delicately and then strode into the house, stopping in the living room before heading directly for the downstairs office. He stood in the middle of the room and cocked his head.

"Here. This is where the scent is strongest." He pointed at the filing cabinet and desk. "Whoever it was, he was here a long time, like he maybe sat at the desk while he went through it and the files."

Blair nodded. "Makes sense. If whoever it was was looking for something Dr. Thompson had, it would be safe to assume that it might be in this room."

"Yeah. Like maybe that ledger we found." Jim raised an eyebrow.

"What about upstairs?"

Blair followed Jim, curious as to where the scent would take them. His eyes widened when Jim headed directly for the library.

"This is the only room that I smell it in up here, Chief." His gaze met Blair's. "Whoever it was, he was familiar with this house."

"I can't tell if anything's missing, Jim. Can you?"

He shook his head. "The scent is strongest next to this desk, but everything looks just the same as we left it." He glanced at Blair. "Don't forget to put the book back."

Blair nodded and carefully placed the book on the shelf. What Jim had just done was incredible. He hadn't caught a whiff of anything and yet the Sentinel had been able to trace the person's path through the house by scent alone. Amazing.

"Let's go. I don't think there's anything more to be gained here." Jim smiled slightly and headed for the stairs.

Blair was quiet on the ride to Rainier. There was so much to process. By the time they arrived, he'd come to a decision. He reached out and put a hand on Jim's arm.

"Chief?"

"What you did back there, that was nothing short of incredible, man. It all came so easily to you."

Jim shook his head. "If it looked easy, then it's because you were there helping me, Chief. I couldn't have done that on my own."

Blair ran his hand back through his hair. "Maybe. We need to see if you can isolate that scent, Jim. Determine if it's the same thing you've smelled each time you zoned."

"How?" He frowned. "I only really remember it from yesterday at the crime scene."

He took a deep breath. "I'd like to try using some meditation techniques to get you relaxed. Then I can take you back to the sense memory. We might have to try a couple of times, but I'm confident that you can do it. This could be an important clue. If it is the same scent then it would be a confirmation that both of the murders are related."

Jim gazed at him steadily for a few moments and then said, "All right. What do we need?"

Blair smiled. "Quiet. We need to be someplace where we won't be disturbed."

"After we're done here, we'll go back to the loft." He raised an eyebrow. "You sure about this?"

"I'm sure," he replied firmly. His stomach clenched at the exaggeration, but he didn't let any of his doubt show. Jim could do it - that much he believed. His doubt was whether he would be able to guide the man well enough to get results or whether he'd just be a hindrance.

Jim nodded and they got out of the Jeep.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Pete Keller slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and snarled as he watched Ellison's red Jeep drive away from Thompson's house. Interfering asshole. What the hell was he still doing with Sandburg? His eyes narrowed as he mulled over that question. Ellison and Sandburg. Was Sandburg with Ellison yesterday instead of at the warehouse?

It was an open secret that Ellison played both sides of the fence. That was one of the things that had made him so effective during his stint in Vice. And Ellison had a reputation for being a hard ass. He was thorough in his work and wouldn't tolerate anything that would jeopardize an arrest. There was only one reason Keller could think of why Ellison would take the risk of having the pretty boy around while he was out investigating a case. An ugly smile played on his lips. Maybe there'd still be some fun ahead for him after all; a way to get back at Ellison and get what he wanted at the same time. With that thought in mind, Keller started the engine and headed for the police station.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim ducked under the police tape crossing the open doorway of Thompson's office. The room hadn't been disturbed since Forensics finished their work the day before. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he hoped that there'd be some indication of what Thompson was involved in that provided such a lucrative income. He had set Rafe and Brown to tracking down information on Thompson's financial situation. And then there was the ledger. That kind of record keeping rarely turned out to be anything innocent.

A slight noise caused Jim to turn. Sandburg stood just behind him, staring down at the tape outline of Thompson's body. His face was pale and his hand trembled slightly as he ran it through his curls. Jim sighed and stepped forward, blocking his view. He hated the fact that his need to have the kid nearby meant that he was dragging him into situations that caused him pain. He raised his hand and tilted Blair's chin up until he met his gaze.

"I'm sorry that you have to be here," he said softly. "If I thought I could do this without your help I'd have you wait out in the Jeep."

Sandburg shook his head and said earnestly, "It's okay, Jim. I want to help if I can. I'm trying to keep my emotions under control, really I am. It was just seeing that outline..." his words trailed off and he swallowed convulsively.

Jim acted on instinct and pulled Blair into his arms. For a moment he resisted, holding himself away stiffly and then he relaxed into the embrace, tentatively putting his arms around Jim's waist. The solid weight of the young man against his body felt right to Jim and his senses apparently agreed with him. Everything seemed to be sharper, clearer. He could smell the clean scent of the herbal shampoo and soap that Blair had used that morning and he could feel the ripples of the lean muscles under his fingers as his hands danced lightly over Blair's back. The rhythm of Blair's heartbeat was a soothing melody to his ears. Regretfully Jim forced himself to step back, knowing that if he didn't let go right then that nothing would persuade him to give up the pleasure he felt while holding him.

Blair nearly undid his good intentions by raising his head and smiling at him. The smile that could reach right inside and grab hold. In that moment he acknowledged to himself that he was a goner. He was losing his heart to this man, if indeed it wasn't already lost. The only question was how did Blair feel about him? Blair was already in denial over the idea of being Jim's Guide; he didn't want to risk pushing the kid too far, too fast.

"You gonna be okay, Chief?"

"Yeah," Sandburg said softly. "I'll be fine."

Jim nodded once and turned away to peruse the room. "I'm looking for anything out of place, anything that strikes you as odd. How familiar are you with Thompson's office?"

"He was my advisor, Jim. I spent a lot of time in here discussing my master's project as well as ideas for my doctoral thesis. I also worked with him on some of his own projects."

"Help me out then. Is there anything that jumps out at you?"

Jim watched as Sandburg slowly walked around the room, pausing at various spots. Finally he stopped behind Thompson's desk. He frowned and raised a troubled gaze to meet Jim's eyes.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." Sandburg glanced around again before gazing again at Jim. "Everything looks the same as it did the last time I was in here. I just...I guess I never really paid that much attention to his office. I was always so caught up in our conversations or what we were working on that I just never really thought about the office."

Jim frowned, not sure where this was going. "And?"

"And I just realized that the artifacts," he gestured at the various objects around the room, "kept changing. These are all very good quality. Not rare exactly, but difficult to obtain. They'd certainly catch a collector's eye."

"Is that unusual?"

"Not really. Most anthropologists who have been in the field long enough tend to start collecting their own favorite pieces. Usually small, inexpensive ones at first. Over time, a lot of our offices begin to resemble mini-museums. Even the Chairman's office is cluttered with artifacts that represent his life's work."

Jim looked around the office with a new eye. "Doesn't look like there are that many artifacts in here, Sandburg. How long was Thompson an anthropologist?"

"At least 30 years, Jim. And you're right. Not only aren't there that many artifacts, but I've never seen most of these. And when I think back over the times I've been in this office in the last few years, well, in my mind I can picture a lot of different pieces. None of which tended to be around for long." He picked up a small piece of stone, beautifully carved in the shape of a deer. "Even stranger is the fact that none of the artifacts in this room are from Dr. Thompson's area of anthropology."

"Does that mean something?"

"Yeah. It's not unusual for someone to collect from an area outside their field of expertise simply because they have an interest. It is unusual not to have anything at all from your own specialty. Add that to the fact that the artifacts are collector quality and they keep changing and, well, you can see where I'm going with this." He looked at Jim expectantly.

Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. I think so. You're saying that Thompson had sort of a side business. Selling artifacts to collectors?"

Sandburg nodded excitedly. "He must have brought the artifacts that he hadn't sold yet into his office to replace the ones he did sell. That would explain why they kept changing."

He cocked his head. "All right. How good a business are we talking here? Enough to explain the house?"

Sandburg held out his hand and Jim picked the carving up off of his palm. The detail was incredible, the total effect exquisite.

"To the right collector that piece could bring anywhere from one to five thousand dollars if bought from a dealer. Enough sales and we'd be talking about a lot of money." He frowned. "I'm fairly certain that Dr. Thompson wasn't a licensed dealer."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "What do you want to bet that the ledger is a record of his transactions? But if you're right and these were illegal sales, then I have to ask, where was he getting the artifacts? He had to have an illegal source that supplied him with his merchandise at a cheap price, otherwise it wouldn't pay."

Sandburg's eyes widened. "The expeditions," he whispered.

"Expeditions?"

He nodded slowly. "Dr. Thompson coordinated a few small expeditions each year. One or two a semester. They were always led by other members of the faculty, but he was the sponsor, the one who decided on the itinerary and arranged for the funding."

"So what are we saying?" Jim perched on the edge of the desk. "Thompson arranged for expeditions to places that had artifacts that he wanted and then what?"

Sandburg began to pace, gesturing emphatically with his hands. "Don't you see? For this to work there have to be others involved. The only way to insure a reliable source would be to keep the numbers small. They'd have to have some kind of arrangement with the local authorities for getting the artifacts through customs and in order to bypass customs here. Which means that someone on the expeditions had to be involved. The students participating would be different each time, so that just leaves..." He froze.

"The faculty," Jim finished softly.

"But, this is all speculation," he said hopefully. "We really don't have any evidence to back it up."

"You don't believe that any more than I do," Jim replied. "If it's true, then we'll find the evidence. Come on, Chief. We'll start with the filing cabinets." He pretended not to hear Blair's sigh as they turned to the cabinets standing against the wall.

After a couple of hours of sorting through student files and project notes, Jim found the files relating to all of the expeditions Thompson coordinated in the last several years. He stacked them on the desk and placed his hand on the top.

"Let's take these back to the loft." He smiled slightly. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I thought we could stop and pick up something to eat on the way home."

Sandburg had become quiet and withdrawn while they worked, eventually leaving the filing cabinets to Jim and turning to the desk drawers. He looked up at Jim, his gaze full of sadness and he held out a thick folder.

"What's this?" Jim took it out of his hands, but didn't open it.

"The proof." He looked away. "Names, dates, lists of artifacts and their approximate worth. I'd imagine that this information will correlate with the figures in the ledger that you found at Dr. Thompson's house."

Jim looked down at the folder in his hands and hurt for the young man in front of him as the realization sunk in that people he admired, people he may have looked up to, were involved in criminal activities.

"I'm sorry, Chief."

"Me too, Jim. Me too."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

"Well, you've got my attention with this." Simon tapped the file on his desk with a pencil. "How does it tie in with the murders? Does it tie in with the murders?"

He shrugged. "I don't know for sure, yet, Sir. My hunch is that it does, but I don't know exactly how. I guess that's the question."

"Mm-hmm." The Captain rocked back in his chair and regarded Jim thoughtfully. "All right, Jim. There's something else going on with you. What is it? Does it have to do with your senses?"

Jim smiled. "Can't get anything past you, can I Simon? Yeah, you could say that there's something going on with my senses. This time, though, it's something good. I've found a way to control them."

Simon sat forward abruptly. "How?"

"That's a little complicated." Jim squirmed slightly in his chair. "It turns out that what's happening to me is perfectly natural, a genetic advantage if you will." He explained about Burton's book and the concept of Sentinels.

"And you're one of these Sentinels?" Simon raised an eyebrow. "Why do I think that there's more to this story?"

He chuckled softly. "Because you're the Captain?"

"Damn right. Now, how about the rest?"

"It seems that in order to gain control over his senses that a Sentinel requires a partner."

"A partner? Are you telling me that you're finally going to give in and work with a partner?" Simon smiled broadly. "In that case, I think I'm going to like this sentinel business. So tell me, who are you thinking of taking as a partner? Brown? Sanders?"

Jim shook his head. "Ah, maybe I should explain a bit more. According to Burton, Sentinels need a particular kind of partner. Someone who can guide him in the use of his senses, watch his back and help prevent him from slipping into one of those zones." He carefully avoided mentioning the idea that a Sentinel and Guide would form some kind of mystical bond.

"So, you're saying what?"

"You remember Sandburg?"

"The kid from the Sampson murder?" Simon frowned. "No. You are _not_ telling me that this Sandburg kid is the one who's supposed to help you."

"I think so, yeah. I'm telling you Simon, he's the one who figured out that I'm a Sentinel and he's already come up with ideas that have helped me. I really believe that this could work." Jim sat up straight in his chair. "With his help I've used my senses to do some pretty amazing things. He thinks that with practice I'll be able to do even more. How did he put it? Oh yeah, he called me a walking biological crime lab."

"Jim," Simon began and then paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. "Sandburg's not a cop. In fact, at the moment he's a suspect in a murder investigation."

"He's not a serious suspect, Sir, and I know he's not a cop, but the kid's sharp. He's willing to do a ride-along with me. He says he needs to observe me on the job in order to come up with ways to help me work."

"Can't he just tell one of the other detectives what to do? Why does it have to be him?"

"Ah, well, I sort of hoped we wouldn't need to go there." Jim grimaced. He wasn't completely comfortable with this part of things and he didn't know how to explain it to Simon. "I think it's possible that Sandburg's the only one who can really help."

"Why?"

He sighed. "I seem to have this connection with him. I don't know exactly how to explain it, but it's like my senses seek him out." He ran a nervous hand over his chin. "I could hear his heartbeat at the Museum before I even met him."

Simon stared at him. "You could hear his heartbeat?"

Jim nodded. "I wasn't even in the same room with him."

"Can you hear my heartbeat?"

"If I concentrate really hard, I suppose I could." He frowned. "With Sandburg, it's like it's just there. Like it's a natural thing for me to hear it."

"I'm not sure I want to know this." He shook his head.

"If I want control, it's going to have to be Sandburg, Simon."

Simon drummed his fingers on his desk. "I won't lie to you, Jim. I don't like it. I don't like the thought of having a civilian be your partner. And you know there's no way that I can sanction Sandburg riding with you while he's still a suspect."

"We both understand that an official ride-along will have to wait until Sampson's murder is solved. I'm just asking that you keep an open mind about it."

Simon sighed. "All right, Jim. I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking, Simon."

The Captain nodded and leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk. "How soon do you think it'll be before you have these murders wrapped up, Jim?"

He shook his head and frowned. "I'm not sure. My gut tells me that I'm close. That I've got all of the pieces and I just need to put them together the right way. But realistically? I don't know. Why?"

"Because I have another case that I want you on. There's a new drug supplier in the city. The case has been sitting in Narcotics for the last 8 months, but so far they haven't been able to get a handle on who it is or where the drugs are coming from. It looks like a completely new pipeline. The Chief has bumped it up to Major Crime. I've assigned some people to it, but I really want you on it. There's no way I can reassign you until I can assure the Mayor that we've made an arrest in the Sampson murder. Do you really think that the two murders are tied together?"

Jim nodded. "I haven't come across any hard evidence yet, but, yeah, I do. I've looked through the folders we found in Thompson's office and the crates of artifacts that were at the Museum were from one of the current expeditions that he arranged. It's too big a coincidence for me to swallow."

"Why would Thompson send crates of artifacts that he planned to sell over to the Museum to put them on display?" Banks frowned.

"That's just one of the questions I have, Sir. I--"

The phone on the Captain's desk rang and he held up a hand to indicate that Jim should wait while he answered it.

"Captain Banks. Yes, he's here in my office. Just a minute." He held the phone out to Jim. "Forensics for you."

"Ellison." Jim listened for a few minutes. "You're sure? Thanks Serena." He hung up the phone and frowned.

"What is it?"

"Serena's completed a preliminary comparison of the dates in the folder against the information in the ledger I found at Thompson's house. The folder goes back ten years, but the ledger only has dates for about the last year. She said the dates are a match, but the dollar amounts don't tally. The amounts in the ledger are several times more than the corresponding information about the worth of the artifacts in the folder."

"Damn. Could Thompson have had more than one side business?"

"It's beginning to look that way. I guess it's time for me to do some more digging." Jim rose from his chair and headed for the door.

"Keep me posted, Jim. On everything." Simon raised his eyebrows.

Jim smiled briefly. "Yes Sir."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair stood at the balcony windows without seeing the view in front of him. His thoughts were jumbled and confused and he wished that he could go back in time to before this had all happened. To the morning in the warehouse when he'd packed up his stuff, thanked Mike for letting him stay as long as he had and then lied and told him that he'd found another place. To the time when Mike was still alive and Blair didn't know anything about Dr. Thompson being involved in something that he considered a betrayal of his trust.

He sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. How could he have been so naive? Jim probably thought he was an idiot for not noticing that any of this was happening right in front of him. How could he face the man? What was wrong with him? His friend was dead, they hadn't come close to finding his killer that Blair could see and here he was worried about what Jim thought of him.

Unbidden, the feeling of Jim's arms around him holding him close hit Blair hard. He closed his eyes and savored the memory. It had felt so right, so safe, being held by Jim, the feeling of his hard body pressed against Blair. If Jim hadn't released him when he had, Blair was afraid that he'd have revealed his attraction to the man. Jim already had enough to deal with, with having the sentinel stuff thrust upon him. He didn't need Blair's emotions complicating things.

And what was he going to do about the sentinel thing? Jim's abilities were astounding, but it was the man behind the senses that made the whole thing so incredible. Jim was intelligent and a good detective in his own right. Blair had to help him attain the control over his senses that he needed. Beyond that, Blair could see a myriad of possibilities for how Jim could use his senses on the job. He just needed to practice and hone their use. And they had to find someone at the station that Jim could rely on to be his partner, his Guide.

The thought of someone else guiding the detective made him uneasy. Blair stepped back from the windows and turned to face the loft. He shivered slightly and wrapped his arms around his torso in an unconsciously protective gesture. Every time he tried to think about passing the responsibility of guiding the Sentinel on to someone else, something primal deep inside him howled in defiance. But he couldn't be Ellison's Guide. He just couldn't. Oh, he could handle the responsibility, but the commitment was too great. If he allowed himself to think for one minute that he was the Guide, then he'd be lost for good. He knew it and he resisted it desperately.

Hadn't Naomi taught him all too well that nothing lasts forever? How could he allow himself to make a commitment like that when he knew that at some point he'd end up breaking it, or Jim would? He couldn't do that to Jim. He _wouldn't_ do that to Jim. Better that they find someone else right away and train that person to be Jim's Guide, even though it hurt deeply each time he entertained that notion.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice when the door opened and Jim entered the loft. He didn't hear the words of greeting nor the words of concern when he failed to respond. Not until gentle hands cupped his face and drew his gaze up to meet warm blue eyes, did he realize that he was no longer alone. The concern in Jim's gaze was his undoing. How could he bring himself to leave this man? He felt his eyes fill and tears spill down his cheeks, but he couldn't force himself to turn away and he was pulled into a comforting embrace. A warm hand on the back of his head urged him to rest his cheek on Jim's chest, another hand soothed over his back and nonsense words were whispered into his ear. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to float away.

When Blair awoke the first thing he noticed was the shadows that filled the loft. The only illumination in the room came from the lights of the city reflecting in through the windows. He must have slept for several hours, he thought. He was comfortable and warm and felt unaccountably safe. His eyes drooped closed as he contemplated returning to his slumber. He turned his head and wondered why his pillow was so hard. Hard? His eyes flew open and he lifted his head to stare down at his pillow. He swallowed as he took in the hard chest on which his head had just rested. His eyes traveled down the length of the body and then back again until he looked up and found Jim smiling at him. Blair was wedged between the back of the couch and Jim, their bodies pressed close, legs entwined, Jim's arms holding him. Unexpected desire flared at the intimate contact and in a moment of panic he pushed himself up and scrambled off of the couch.

Embarrassed, he averted his gaze and missed the disappointment on Jim's face at his reaction. "I, uh, I'll be right back. I just, um, have to go, man." With that he fled to the bathroom.

Blair stared in the mirror and berated himself silently. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had to get himself together, go back out there and face Jim. He bent over the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. He reached for a towel and dried his face and hands and then turned to the door. He could do this and not die of embarrassment. He forced his shoulders back and raised his chin, unaware that he resembled a condemned man steeling himself to face his executioner.

A light was on in the kitchen, the small pool of light providing enough illumination for him to see. His relief at finding Jim in the kitchen instead of still on the couch nearly made him weak in the knees. He flashed the man a nervous smile and then seated himself at the table.

"Hey, man. Sorry about that, but you know, when you gotta go, you gotta go." He couldn't make himself look at Jim and he heard the scrape of the chair opposite him as it was pulled across the hardwood floor.

"No problem, Chief." Jim's voice was soft.

Blair folded his hands on the table and stared at them. "So, did you find anything useful in the folders from Dr. Thompson's office?" He waited for Jim's reply, but when there was only silence he raised his head and finally looked at him. A small smile and a nod were his rewards.

"Yeah, we did. Looks like your theory was right. There was definitely smuggling of artifacts going on. The folder you found dates back ten years." Jim explained about everything that had been found so far.

Blair frowned. "I don't understand what the ledger is all about."

"That makes two of us, Chief." He sighed softly. "What about that sense memory thing that we were going to try? You feel up to helping me with that?"

He nodded slowly. "We'll need some candles if you have them."

"I've got a few that I keep around in case the power goes out. Will they do?"

"Yeah, man, that'll work fine." He glanced around the loft and then said hesitantly, "I think the couch would be the best place for this. You need to be comfortable. We'll put the candles on the coffee table."

Jim fetched the candles and Blair arranged them to his satisfaction. Once they were lit, he turned off the light in the kitchen. He had Jim sit in the middle of the couch and told him to focus on the light from the candles, but not to stare at the flames. He perched on an arm of the couch.

"Let your gaze go soft, Jim. Don't look for details; just let everything have the same importance in your sight. See the light without staring at it directly. Let it encompass your vision." Without realizing it, he'd dropped his voice until it was low and melodious. "Do you see it?"

"Yeah."

"Allow your eyes to close. Can you still see the light?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Now I want you to think back to when we arrived at Dr. Thompson's office just after the murder." He watched in fascination as the expression on Jim's face changed from relaxed to one of concentration. "Are you there?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. You've stepped into the office and you're standing next to the b-body." Blair ran a hand back through his hair. "You're investigating. Looking for clues. What do you smell?"

Jim frowned and then an expression of pain crossed his face. Without thinking about it, Blair immediately slid off the couch and knelt between Jim's legs. He leaned forward and smoothed his hand over the detective's brow, bracing himself with his other hand on Jim's knee.

"Take it easy," he whispered. "Nothing can hurt you. This is just a memory." He held his breath for a moment until the expression on Jim's face eased. He left his hand lightly cupping Jim's face. He didn't notice that one of the detective's hands now circled the wrist of his other hand that rested on Jim's knee.

"Okay. Let's try that again. You've smelled something out of place, yet familiar. Something you've smelled before. I want you to filter out all of the scents that aren't part of that smell. All you should be left with is the one scent." He watched carefully while various expressions crossed Jim's face fleetingly. Finally, a slightly surprised look remained.

"Do you have it?"

"Yes."

"Good, Jim. Now I want you to catalog that smell. You should have it in your memory so you can easily recognize it when you smell it again."

"Got it."

"All right, man. That's great." He lightly caressed the cheek under his palm. "Now, let's go back to the warehouse."

Another grimace of pain crossed Jim's face and Blair unconsciously swayed closer to him. The hand that had circled his wrist slowly slid up Blair's arm until it gripped his bicep. Again Blair smoothed away the pain on Jim's face.

"Remember this is just a memory, Jim. Nothing can hurt you here. I want you to do the same thing with this memory as you did with the last one. Filter out the smells until you're left with the one that caught your attention. Can you do that?"

"Yeah." This time it only took a few seconds for Jim to finish. A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Got it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Is it the same smell?"

"Yep."

"Good, Jim. That's good."

Blair took him through each instance where he'd had a reaction to a smell and each time it turned out to be the same scent. With each success Blair had moved closer to Jim, as if drawn to the heat of his body, not realizing what he was doing. And Jim had encouraged him by tugging him closer with the hand on his arm. By the time they'd gone through the last memory, Blair was pressed against Jim, crotch to crotch, chest to chest. Jim's legs had circled around Blair's thighs, crossing at the ankles to pull him even closer. Blair watched Jim's eyelids flutter open and he lost himself in the blue of his eyes. He felt a hand tangle in his hair, holding the back of his head and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to lift his chin and offer his mouth.

Blair moaned deep in his throat as Jim kissed him. He parted his lips and let the slick heat of Jim's tongue plunder his mouth. He wasn't completely inexperienced. He'd had his share of sexual encounters with women and he'd thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure they brought. But nothing had prepared him for the raw, sensual assault of Jim Ellison. It was as if the man couldn't get enough of him. He was strong and yet gentle at the same time. His hands seemed to be everywhere, cupping his head closer, stroking down his back to squeeze and kneed his ass, tracing delicately over his face and all the while he was kissing him. Blair thought dreamily that he might come just from Jim's kiss alone.

That thought shocked him back to awareness as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head. What the hell was he doing? He'd never kissed a man before and here he was not only kissing Jim, but also contemplating what it would feel like to be naked with him. Words from Burton's book flashed across his mind: _closer than mere lovers_. Suddenly panicked, he fought to free himself from the arms that now felt constraining rather than enticing. Abruptly Jim let him go, clearly struggling to get himself under control.

Blair fell back and pushed himself to his feet, panting for breath. His emotions told him to flee, to put as much distance between them as he could, but something stronger told him to stay, to try to make some sense of what had just happened between them. The conflict between the two desires made him shudder. Unable to decide what to do, he watched Jim rise from the couch and reach a trembling hand toward him, as if afraid he would flinch from his touch. He blinked when Jim's hand landed on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said softly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Blair shook his head, unable to deny his words, but unwilling to agree with them.

"I understand that this isn't what you want." Jim closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. "I promise it won't happen again."

"No!" The word was torn from his lips before he thought. At the surprised look on Jim's face, he said unsteadily, "That's not quite true, Jim. I don't want that promise from you." He looked down at the floor between them.

"I could tell you were scared there, Chief. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me." His voice was puzzled.

"It's not what you think, Jim." Blair met his gaze and read the hope there. "I...I was scared, I'll admit it. I've never done this before." He gestured between the two of them. "But before I got scared I was more turned on than I've ever been in my life."

"Really?" He smiled.

"Really," Blair replied firmly. "I think that was part of the problem. It confused the hell out of me and I panicked."

"Part of that's probably my fault," Jim said. "I told myself I was going to take this slow, not spook you. But you felt so damn good and you tasted even better. I let myself get carried away and I pushed you."

"Yeah, well, did it seem like I wasn't responding?" Blair asked wryly. "I'll be honest, man. I've been getting flashes of, um, desire I guess, since I met you. I've looked at guys before, but I've never really thought of doing anything more than that. Until you." He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what that means."

"It means that you're feeling the same way I am." Jim ran his hand lightly up and down his arm and smiled slightly when Blair shivered. "I won't lie to you, Blair. I came to terms with my sexuality a long time ago, but I remember how confusing it was when I realized I was attracted to men as well as women. What I'm feeling for you is different than anything I've ever felt before. I don't know if it's because of the Sentinel/Guide stuff, or if it's just you. Whatever it is, it's nearly overwhelming. I want you, Blair, but I won't force myself on you. You'll have to be the one to decide if you want to take this any further."

He opened his mouth, but Jim interrupted before he could reply.

"Don't say anything right now. I want you to take some time and think it over, all right?"

He nodded mutely.

"Good. In the meantime I'll try to back off." He gave Blair a rueful smile. "It'll be tough, but I'll try. Now, how about we get back to work?"

Again Blair nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak just yet. Work? How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on anything but Jim? He shook his head and followed the man back to the kitchen table and sat down across from him. He hoped that having at least that much distance between them would help him get his equilibrium back.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

The next morning Jim decided to go into the station and let Blair have some space. He told him he'd be gone most of the morning and that he should just relax and make himself at home. Jim wanted to sort through the evidence on his own and see if he could make some sense out of it. He sat at his desk and read through the various reports that had accumulated from both the Sampson and the Thompson cases. He still couldn't make the connection between small time smuggling and murder and it was frustrating the hell out of him.

"Jim?"

"Captain? I didn't hear you come up. Guess I was too involved in this." He gestured at the papers on his desk.

"Hmmm. Come on in my office and let's go over it together. I've just made a new pot of coffee. It's a new blend and I'm willing to share." He smiled.

"It's a deal." Jim gathered the reports into a folder and brought it with him.

An hour later they were still discussing the possibilities of the case when Jim heard Brown and Rafe enter the bullpen. He glanced at them through the blinds on the window.

_"I'm telling you, H, that was just weird."_

Brown shrugged._ "What can I say? Most of those guys in Vice are a bit strange. Well, at least they are while they're in Vice. Who knows what bug crawled up Keller's butt?"_

_"Yeah, but what's the deal with him and Ellison? I mean, why would he want to know if Jim's at the station? And what the hell was that crack about wanting to know if he was here alone?"_

_"Dunno, Bri."_

Jim stood up abruptly and walked out of Banks' office, oblivious to the fact that he'd just left his Captain sitting open mouthed in the middle of a sentence. He strode to where Brown sat on the edge of Rafe's desk and stopped. He sniffed delicately and his eyes widened.

"Ellison!"

Jim blinked and turned to his Captain. "Sir?"

"Finally! I've been trying to get your attention Jim. What the hell's the matter with you?" Simon frowned.

Jim headed for the Captain's office and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. He held up his hands to forestall Simon's protests.

"Simon," he said urgently, "remember what I told you about the sentinel senses? And the work that Sandburg did with me on the sense memory thing?"

He nodded.

"Well, I just smelled that scent again. Out there in the bullpen near Brown and Rafe."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "Don't try to tell me that they're involved in this somehow."

Jim shook his head violently. "No. I overheard their conversation when they entered the bullpen." He smiled slightly at Simon's shocked look. "They were talking about Pete Keller from Vice. They'd just had a run-in with him."

"You think it's Keller that you smelled?" Simon raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I do. It was Keller, Simon. I'm sure of it. He's been at all of the crime scenes and not just after the fact. And he'd have access to the folders on my desk which would account for the scent being on them if he'd gone through them." Jim ran a hand back over his short hair and frowned. "Keller was asking Brown and Rafe strange questions about me. He wanted to know if I was here at the station and if I came in alone."

They exchanged a startled glance and Jim uttered explosively, "Shit! Sandburg!" as they both headed for the door.

"Brown, did you just talk to Detective Keller?" Simon asked as they strode through the bullpen.

"Yes, Sir," he replied in surprise.

"Did he ask you about Jim?"

"Yeah. It was weird. He wanted to know if he came to the station alone this morning." He shook his head as if to say Keller had a screw loose somewhere.

"I told you, Sir." Jim grabbed his keys from his desk and ran for the elevator. Simon was right behind him.

"I'm going with you, Jim. If Keller _is_ there, you'll need some backup."

Jim nodded gratefully and watched the lighted numbers on the elevator dial slowly count down. He hoped that he was wrong about what he suspected, but in his heart he knew that he wasn't. He just prayed that they'd be in time.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Blair paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again, restlessly moving around the open space. Sitting on the couch had lasted for just a few minutes before he jumped up again to pace. The answers were there in front of him, if only he could put the pieces together so that they made sense.

Jim had been so right when he'd told Blair that he had to step back. He'd let his emotions cloud his judgement and now he had to make himself look at the facts dispassionately. Dr. Thompson had been a friend, someone who had appeared to care about him and his academic career, but the seemingly perfect anthropology professor had been anything but. As they'd investigated they'd found too many things about his life that couldn't be explained and that meant that Blair needed to examine his own preconceptions if he wanted to find the answers.

Mike appeared to be more of an enigma, his life apparently hidden and secretive. But there'd been no substance to the mystery. Appearance had truly been reality in his case. He'd been a loner because that's what he'd preferred, not because he'd had something to hide. He'd lived in the warehouse simply because he liked the open space it afforded him, not because he was up to something nefarious. Mike had been a decent man, an innocent victim in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The real question in all of this was why kill anyone? The artifacts that Thompson and his cronies had smuggled into the country weren't fabulously valuable. Oh, they would have certainly provided a comfortable income for the staff members who were in on the scam, but it wasn't like they were smuggling golden statues or Monet paintings or something. On the contrary, the value of the items was such that the worst they'd face from the authorities if found out would probably be a slap on the hand and a fine. What was so valuable about it all that would make killing acceptable?

Blair stopped in the middle of the room and his eyes widened. That was it, he thought. That was what was bugging him about all of this. The murders couldn't be about the smuggled artifacts. They simply weren't important enough to warrant murder. There had to be something more, but what? He blinked, trying to force the illusive thought to the surface, when there was a knock at the front door. Still struggling to grasp the answer he opened it, only to fall back in alarm as the door was shoved in.

"D-Detective K-Keller?" he stuttered. Angry at the way the man forced himself inside the loft, he put more force into his voice. "Detective Ellison isn't here right now. What do you want?"

Keller smiled unpleasantly and shut the door behind him. Blair's eyes widened as he heard the snick of the deadbolt. What the hell was this?

"You have something of mine and I want it back." Keller's voice was hard.

"Man, I do _not_ know what you're talking about." Blair held up his hands and backed up a couple of steps. "I think you'd better leave."

Keller stepped forward, deliberately closing the distance between them. "Oh, I'll leave all right. As soon as I get what I came for." He grabbed Blair's arm in a punishing grip, preventing him from moving away again.

"What's the matter with you?" This was not good. The guy was almost as big as Jim and something about him scared Blair. "I told you I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have anything that belongs to you."

He tried to pull away, but Keller simply spun him around, twisting his arm behind his back. Keller's other arm circled his waist, pulling him back against his tall form and pinning him snuggly. Blair's free arm was caught at his side. Keller raised the arm held between them until Blair cried out in pain. He was trapped, if he moved at all bursts of pain shot through his arm. A new fear washed over him as he realized in dismay that Keller was getting off on hurting him. Blair could feel his erection even through his jeans and panic made him struggle that much harder.

"That's it, pretty boy." Keller's breath was hot on Blair's neck. "You've got a bit of fight in you. I like that. Makes it more of a challenge, even though we both know you'll give it up in the end." He chuckled and tightened his hold.

"You bastard! Let me go!" he spat out as he panted from his exertion. "Detective Ellison will be here soon, man."

"Can't do that, even if I wanted to. First you're going to tell me where it is and then you and me are gonna have a little fun. And I wouldn't worry about Ellison interrupting us. You don't think I'd show up here without making sure he was busy, do you?" He jerked Blair's arm up, wrenching a cry out of him. "Now, where is it?"

"What?" he nearly sobbed out the word. "I don't know what you're talking about. At least tell me what it is you think I have." What had he done to Jim?

"I'm tired of playing this game, boy. I want the drugs. Sampson didn't have them. Thompson didn't either. That leaves you." He pulled Blair back even tighter against his body and thrust his hips forward once. "The sooner you hand them over, the sooner we can get to the fun."

Drugs? What the hell was he talking about? The missing piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place for Blair. The valuable commodity that made murder an option. Drugs. Keller killed Mike and Dr. Thompson and Blair was next. In the split second that it took to realize that, he also felt a sad resignation. Not just because he was going to die, but that it would happen in the loft. In Jim's home. He'd give anything to spare Jim the pain and guilt that that would cause him.

More calmly than he thought he'd be able to manage, he said, "I don't know anything about any drugs. If you were expecting them to be in the crates, then you're bound to be disappointed. The only things in them were artifacts."

"You're lying!" Keller shouted. He shook Blair roughly. "You have to have them."

Blair shrugged. "Maybe so, but I don't. I didn't know anything about it until you told me just now. What is it? Heroin? Coke? Something else?" He noted with surprise that Keller's breathing had become ragged.

"Damn it! If you don't have it then the fuckers at the other end lied to me."

"What's the matter, Keller? Somebody else expecting you to show with the drugs?" His eyes widened as he felt Keller's body stiffen behind him. "That's it, isn't it? You're not in charge of this, are you? In trouble with your bosses if you don't hand over the goods?" He nearly regretted not keeping his mouth shut when the grip on his arm tightened.

"Don't worry about me," Keller replied contemptuously. "I may be in a jam, but I'll be able to convince my employers that the problem is down south. I'd worry about what comes next, boy. If you don't have the drugs, then there's no reason to postpone our fun." He laughed when Blair shivered.

Fearfully Blair renewed his struggles, but the only thing that happened was that they moved a few paces until they were standing in the middle of the living room. He could feel Keller's amusement at his futile attempts to free himself. Despair gripped him as Keller forced him to his knees, following him down to the floor. He knelt behind Blair between his legs, the spread of his own legs forcing Blair's further apart until he was off balance, prevented from toppling only by Keller's steel grip. A faint metallic clink was all the warning Blair had before handcuffs were fastened tightly around his wrist, then his other wrist was forced behind his back and the second cuff was fastened around it as well.

Oh God, this was really happening, he thought frantically. Keller was going to rape and kill him and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do to prevent it. He thought about Jim and hoped that the big detective was all right. Blair regretted that he hadn't gotten up the courage to admit how he felt about him, but maybe that was a blessing considering what was happening now. His thoughts were cut short when Keller thrust his left hand under Blair's t-shirt.

"Relax, boy," he said in Blair's ear. "You might as well enjoy yourself. I know I'm going to." He rubbed his palm over Blair's chest and pinched his nipples while he worked at the zipper of Blair's jeans with his right hand.

He felt his zipper being lowered and then Keller roughly shoved his hand into Blair's boxers and grabbed him. He bucked against the larger man in a futile effort to get away from the brutal hold on his cock, keening low in his throat. His jeans and underwear were pushed to his knees and he felt a hard heat pressing against his ass as his head was forced down and bounced against the floor. Anticipating the pain to come, his mind turned inward trying to protect him and he was unaware that he was pleading over and over, softly, brokenly, _'no, no, no, please, Jim please...'_

He missed the door to the loft crashing open and the enraged bellow that followed. The heavy weight that had blanketed him was gone, but he was too deep inside his mind to come out of his daze. Even the release of his wrists from the handcuffs failed to reach him.

Gentle hands pulled him up and he was rocked against a hard chest. Soft words encouraged him to open his eyes, to come back, a loving voice telling him that he was safe. Finally he opened his eyes and looked up into a worried blue gaze.

"That's it, Blair. Welcome back, buddy."

"Jim?" Blair felt odd. He knew that something was wrong, that he should be upset about something, but he couldn't imagine what it was. It dawned on him that he was lying on the floor in Jim's arms, a blanket covering him. As his awareness returned, he took in his partially nude state under the blanket and jerked in reaction. Keller!

"Easy Chief. You're all right now. Relax, okay?" Jim said anxiously.

"K-Keller?" Blair wanted to look away, see for himself where his attacker was, but he couldn't force his gaze from Jim's.

Jim's face was grim and his voice hard. "On his way to jail. I promise that that son of a bitch won't ever touch you again."

Blair turned his face into Jim's chest and began to shake. He felt Jim's arms enfold him in a compassionate embrace and his hand cupped the back of his head, holding him close.

"It's all right, Chief," Jim crooned softly. "I've got you now. I got here in time, thank God."

"I'm sorry, Jim." Blair's voice was muffled as he mumbled into Jim's shirt. "I tried to get away from him, but he was too strong. I couldn't stop him."

"Nothing to be sorry for," he said softly. "Keller has at least 60 pounds on you, Blair. I'm just sorry that he was able to get his hands on you at all."

"How's the kid, Jim? Does he need medical attention?"

"I don't think so, Simon."

"He'll have to be checked out by a doctor. Don't give me that look, Detective. It's procedure and you know it. Now, if he doesn't need the EMTs, I presume that you'll be the one to take him to the hospital. And as soon as he feels up to it, I'll expect you both at the station so he can give his statement."

"Yes, Sir."

"Take care of him, Jim. This shouldn't have happened."

Blair wondered at the regret he heard in the Captain's voice. He sighed softly and felt Jim's arms tighten briefly. Reluctantly he raised his head and pushed himself away from the warmth and safety of Jim's embrace. Shivering as much from reaction as from the cool air, he clutched at the blanket and pulled it close.

"Blair?" Jim stroked his hand over the riotous curls.

"I'm all right, Jim," he said firmly. Not exactly a lie, he told himself. After all, he would be all right. He just needed to get through this.

"Simon was right. You need to be examined by a doctor. Come on, let's get you dressed."

He reached out and took the blanket from Blair's hands and held it up, shielding him from the others that Blair now realized were in the loft. Blair flushed as he looked around and saw the Forensics techs moving about, quietly gathering evidence. Gingerly he pulled up his boxers and then his jeans, wincing as the material rubbed across his bruised genitals. He adjusted himself until he could bear the contact, thankful that he'd put on an old pair of baggy jeans that morning. He was uncomfortable, but at least he wasn't in pain. His attempt to smile at Jim was unsuccessful, judging from the look on the detective's face.

"Think you can make it down to the Jeep?" Jim asked softly.

He nodded.

"We'll take it slow, Chief. You just let me know if you need to stop, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Blair was surprised when Jim slid an arm around his waist and he leaned into his support gratefully. The first few steps were an agony, but after that he felt sort of numb. He wasn't looking forward to the humiliation of the doctor's exam, though he was determined to cooperate in whatever way he was asked. There was no way that he wanted to do anything that would jeopardize keeping Keller behind bars.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Several hours later Jim ushered Blair into the loft and quietly closed the door behind them. He grimaced at the splintered wood around the lock where he'd kicked the door open earlier. Have to get that fixed tomorrow, he thought. For now, he'd just prop a kitchen chair under the doorknob. It wouldn't keep anyone out, but it would make enough noise that no one could sneak in.

He watched Blair slowly sink into a corner of the couch. The kid had been quiet since they'd left the hospital, showing none of the energetic bounce Jim had come to associate with him. The doctor had told him that he was fine, that he might be a bit uncomfortable for a day or so, but that there'd been no serious damage. He'd written up the sexual assault report for Jim and then told Blair to just wear something loose like sweats. Jim swallowed heavily as he thought what he might have found if he'd only been a few minutes later.

He headed up the stairs to his bedroom and searched through the dresser until he found his oldest, softest pair of sweat bottoms. Downstairs again, he stood in front of Blair and held them out. It took a few moments for the kid to recognize that he was there, much less take the sweats and Jim frowned. He quickly replaced it with a smile when Blair looked up at him.

"Hey," he said. Brilliant, he thought sarcastically. Dazzle him with your wit, Ellison.

"Hey," Blair replied softly and then smiled. "Thanks for these." He gestured with the sweats.

"No problem. I figured mine would be looser than any you might have. These are pretty soft, too, so, you know, they should feel good." Okay, it was official. He'd been reduced to babbling.

"Yeah." Blair dropped his gaze to the sweats. "I guess I'll go change into them." He rose slowly from the couch and grimaced.

"Are you in pain?" Jim quickly placed an arm under his elbow to steady him.

"A little. Not too bad. Just a twinge." He blushed slightly. "I'm fine, Jim." He gently extricated his arm and walked to the bathroom.

Jim watched until the bathroom door closed behind him. He wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge and popped the tops off the bottles. He returned to the living room and sat on the couch, propping himself into a corner and placing one of the beers on the coffee table for Blair. They needed to talk about Keller and the assault, but for the first time in his police career, Jim wished that someone else could be the one to take Blair's statement. He wasn't sure that he could hold onto his temper and the last thing he wanted to do was have the kid think that he was mad at him.

He'd come close to killing Keller when he'd burst into the loft and saw the man about to rape Blair. He still was unclear as to exactly what had happened. One moment he was in the doorway and saw Keller bent over Blair, frozen in the process of unzipping his pants. The next, Simon was pulling him off of a battered Keller and yelling at him that Blair needed him. What happened in between was a complete haze and maybe something he really didn't want to remember.

Jim looked up and smiled at Blair as he returned from the bathroom. The sweats were huge on him, baggy and drooping, but he looked a lot more relaxed than he had.

"This for me?" He gestured at the beer.

"Yeah. A cold one sounded good to me, so I thought you might like one, too."

"Thanks, man. It sounds great." He picked up the bottle by the long neck and then gingerly sat on the couch with a sigh. He wasn't sitting close enough to touch Jim, but he also wasn't sitting as far away as he could and Jim took that as a positive sign.

"Listen, Chief," Jim began hesitantly, "I hate to do this, but we need to talk about what happened."

Blair nodded. "I know, Jim." He frowned down at the beer in his hand and then looked at him. "Don't we need to go into the station?"

"Tomorrow is soon enough. I called Simon while you were with the doctor and he agreed that first thing in the morning would be fine. I figured it might be easier to go over it first with just the two of us."

"Thanks," he said softly. "I think I would've been okay with giving a statement, but I appreciate you looking out for me."

You have no idea, Chief, he thought with a smile. "So. Why don't you start from the top? Just take it slow."

Blair took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I was thinking about the murders and puzzling over the smuggling. It just didn't make any sense to me. I mean, I couldn't see anything in what we knew that would make murder worth the risk, you know? There was a knock on the door and I guess I just opened it without thinking. It was Keller and he forced his way inside. I mean, it was the front door, man. I didn't think I had to worry about opening it." He lifted his gaze to Jim's and there was pain in his eyes.

Jim shook his head. "You shouldn't have to worry about something like that. I'm so damn sorry this happened, Chief." He touched Blair's shoulder reassuringly and then dropped his hand back in his lap.

Blair nodded. "It's okay, Jim. It wasn't your fault. I just..." He closed his eyes and swallowed. With a shaky laugh he said, "Maybe this was a good idea after all. I guess I'm not as together as I was pretending."

"Take your time. We're not in any hurry." Jim carefully listened for his heartbeat and was reassured to find it only slightly elevated.

"Anyway, Keller pushed his way in and started ranting about how I had something of his and he wanted it back. I tried to get away from him, but he was too quick and before I knew it he had me pretty well pinned." He picked at the label on his beer bottle. "I-I was scared, man, and I guess I was goading him, but I finally got him to admit that he was looking for drugs."

"He told you that?" Jim stared at Blair in amazement. "He actually said he was looking for drugs?"

He nodded. "Yeah. They were supposed to be in one of the crates that went to the Museum. He said Mike didn't have them and neither did Dr. Thompson, so that only left me."

"Shit. Hold on a minute, Chief." Jim went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. "Simon, it's Jim. He's doing fine. Look, I'm calling because we need to add some charges to Keller's sheet. Murder and drug smuggling. He admitted as much to Blair." He listened for several moments and smiled when Blair gazed at him solemnly.

"Yes, Sir. I need someone to examine Keller's forearms. Dr. Thompson fought with his assailant and there was skin under his fingernails. I'd bet that there are matching scratches on Keller's arms. Also, we should be able to do a DNA match. Yes, Sir. We'll be in first thing in the morning. Thanks, Simon." He hung up the phone and returned to the couch.

"Simon says to tell you that you did good and that he'll be the one taking your statement in the morning."

Blair's eyes widened. "Captain Banks will? Isn't that, um, unusual?"

"This is an unusual case, Chief," Jim replied soberly. "It isn't every day that one of our own is accused of multiple murders and drug dealing."

He ducked his head, letting his hair partially obscure his face. "I'm sorry, Jim." The words were almost too soft to hear.

Jim reached out and grasped his chin, gently forcing his head up and turned to face him. "You have nothing to be sorry for here, Blair. I want you to remember that. Keller went bad. He betrayed everyone on the force with what he did and now he's going to pay for his crimes. He's no longer a cop and doesn't deserve to be protected by his shield. Contrary to what's depicted in popular culture, the majority of us on the force can and do understand that." He released Blair's chin and smiled.

"Got it." Blair returned his smile. "Time to shed some preconceptions, huh?"

"There you go." He raised his beer to his lips and swallowed. "How about telling me the rest of what happened."

Blair rapidly described the brief struggle and what Keller told him. He only stumbled when he came to the actual description of the sexual assault. He turned away, unable to meet Jim's eyes.

"It's all right, Blair. You don't have to be embarrassed or anything. It isn't pleasant, but it's nothing to be ashamed of." Jim watched him carefully.

"It's not that," he said hesitantly. "It's just that while it was happening, all I could think about was..."

"Was?"

"You," he whispered.

Jim blinked rapidly. "Me?"

Blair swallowed and nodded. "I kept thinking that it wasn't fair to you to have to come home and be the one to find my body when it was all over. And how much I regretted that I hadn't been able to admit how I feel." He stared down at the empty bottle he was rolling restlessly between his hands as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Jim's heart skipped a beat. He was almost afraid to ask the question, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass. "And how is it that you feel?" he asked.

"I..." Blair gazed at him, confusion and something else warring in his eyes. "I think I'm falling in love with you, Jim."

Jim plucked the bottle out of his hands and put both of the empties on the coffee table. He put his hands on Blair's upper arms and pulled him slowly towards him, allowing him ample opportunity to escape. He was gratified when that didn't happen. When he finally had the kid settled in his arms where he wanted him, he sighed.

"Is this a bad thing?" he asked quietly. "You know how I feel about you."

Blair shook his head slightly, but Jim felt it against his chest. "No. Just confusing. I guess I'm afraid. Not just because it's new, but about the sentinel thing, too."

"I guess you know that I believe that you're my Guide, huh?" Jim rubbed comforting little circles on his back, trying to encourage the tense muscles to relax.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out. I didn't want to believe it, you know?"

"Why?" He was honestly puzzled by Blair's reluctance to admit he was Jim's Guide. "You've come up with some amazing stuff, Chief. I already feel confident that I'm going to be able to control these senses instead of fearing that they'll control me. You can't be worried that you won't be able to help me."

"It's not that. I think I've known deep down that I'm your Guide since we found Burton's book, maybe even before that. I just have a hard time with commitment, Jim."

"Hey, it's okay. A lot of people panic at commitment." He raised Blair's chin and gazed into his eyes. "Don't sweat it."

A small smile curled at the corners of Blair's mouth. "No, you don't understand. Sure, I told myself that _I_ was afraid to commit, but really my big fear is the other way around." He dropped his gaze and sighed. "You don't really know anything about me, Jim. Maybe it'd help to understand how I grew up. I-I don't know who my father is. Naomi, my mom, says that she doesn't know. She's great, Jim. A true child of the sixties, one of the original flower children. Anyway, Naomi believes that love is always out there and that you should take it wherever it appears, moving on when its gone. She moved from relationship to relationship as the mood struck her, never getting too involved with anyone. 'Detach with love' is her motto. When I was a kid the longest we stayed with anyone was six months and then we were gone."

He paused.

"I see, Chief."

"Do you Jim? Do you really see? Every time I got close to someone we left, or they did. Do you know how hard it is for a kid to want permanence so badly, but know that he can't have it, to learn the lesson over and over again that everything is temporary? I love my mom, Jim. She can't help but be who she is. But, I've been afraid to care about anyone else."

Jim pulled him back into his arms, holding him close against his heart. He ached for the child Blair who had craved something he could never have and he loved the man Blair who was still afraid to reach for what he wanted.

"I can't see the future. I don't know what will happen to us. There are no guarantees in this life, Chief. All I can do is tell you what I feel right now and what I believe." He dropped a kiss on the curls tucked under his chin. "I'm falling in love with you, Blair. I told you before that the way I feel about you is different from anything I've ever felt. I want you in my life and I think that we have a good shot at making this work between us. I'd like to try, but I want you to want the same thing."

"I do, Jim."

He raised his head and Jim saw the unshed tears that glittered in his eyes. Slowly he lowered his head and brushed his lips against Blair's. The gentle touch seemed to break whatever was still holding the kid back and he fastened his arms around Jim's neck, pulling him down eagerly into a searing kiss. They broke apart, panting slightly. Jim cupped his cheek with one hand and tenderly rubbed his thumb over the fragile skin under Blair's eye.

"I know this is new for you. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, especially until you feel better. All right?" Jim smiled reassuringly.

"Thanks, Jim." He cleared his throat nervously. "I'm really beat. I don't think I'm up to doing anything tonight, but I would like..." His words trailed off as he blushed and lowered his gaze.

"What? What would you like, Chief? Hey, it's okay, whatever it is."

"Would it be all right if, well, if I slept with you? I don't mean have sex, I hurt too much and I'm too tired, but I'd like to be with you tonight."

"I'd like that too." Jim stood and pulled Blair up along with him. "Come on."

They slowly walked up the stairs together; Blair in front with Jim's hand at the small of his back, lightly guiding him. Jim pulled back the covers on the bed and then quickly stripped down to his boxers. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Blair hesitantly slipped out of the sweatpants and then climbed onto the bed wearing his boxers and t-shirt.

Jim had never been one to care what side of the bed he slept on, but something was bugging him. He studied the bed and then glanced over at the stairs uneasily.

"Would you mind sleeping on this side, Chief?" He gestured to the side furthest from the stairs.

Blair glanced at the stairs and then back at Jim. He shrugged and scooted over. "No problem, man. I don't really have a preference."

Jim got under the covers. "Thanks. Now, come here, Junior." He opened his arms and smiled as Blair hesitantly crawled into them. He rearranged them both, pulling Blair snug against him and he relaxed as the kid put his arm around his waist. Dropping another kiss on the top of his head, he whispered, "Good night, Chief."

"'Night Jim," came the drowsy reply.

They both slid into an easy, dreamless sleep.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Giving his statement the next morning was easier for Blair than telling Jim the previous night had been. Jim left him in the Captain's office with Simon and Brown, having been informed in no uncertain terms that he would not be allowed to stay. He smiled to himself, wondering if Simon had figured out yet that Jim could easily monitor from his desk what was going on behind the closed door.

Jim looked up with a frown as Brown exited the Captain's office. Blair was only half way through his statement, so where was he going? He watched as H collected his partner and the two of them left the bullpen. What had he missed? His attention was pulled back into the Captain's office as he heard Blair stumble over his description of the assault. He tensed, ready to rush to his aid if need be, only to relax as he listened to Simon reassuring Blair. He'd known his Captain had been a good detective in his day, but he'd always thought of his friend as being gruff and brusque. The Simon he was currently listening to was compassionate and caring; a side of the man that Jim realized few were ever privileged to see.

The formal statement was soon over and Jim's attention wandered as Simon and Blair began making small talk. He idly wondered why he hadn't been summoned yet. He blinked in surprise a few minutes later when Brown and Rafe rushed through the bullpen and into the Captain's office without knocking. A moment later the door opened and Simon beckoned him inside.

"Sir? What's happening?" Jim wondered at the broad smiles on both Brown's and Rafe's faces.

"A full confession, Jim. That's what's happening." Simon ginned. "Thanks to Mr. San-er-Blair's statement."

"Confession?" Jim shook his head in confusion. He really had missed something and he'd been so smug thinking he'd listen in on the discussion. "What happened?"

"Based on what Keller told Blair and the other evidence that you gathered I had Brown and Rafe interrogate him." Simon pulled a cigar out of his desk and unwrapped it, passing it under his nose and obviously savoring the aroma. He stuck it into his mouth, but made no move to light it.

"We played him like a fish, Jim. Of course, he had to know what was going on, at least some of it." Brown's smile widened. "We let him know that we knew about the drugs and that that charge combined with aggravated sexual assault should get him a maximum sentence. He was sweating bullets 'cause he knew it was true."

Rafe snorted. "The asshole actually offered to cut a deal as if he was the one holding the cards. We let him string us along and then Brown lowered the boom."

The big man's eyes danced as he said, "I told him that if he didn't give up his partners to us that we'd just send you in to talk to him. I merely hinted that we were prepared to make sure the two of you were completely alone. He finally got the picture and you know, it's funny, but he couldn't seem to spill the information fast enough." He gave a wicked little chuckle.

"I see." Jim frowned. "You made a deal with him about the drugs and the assault?" He wasn't happy about that last bit.

They nodded.

"What about the murders?"

Rafe smiled. "We didn't mention those. Not until we got what we needed about the drugs. Then we let it slip that, oh by the way, he was now under arrest for the murders of Michael Sampson and David Thompson. You should have seen his face."

"Bastard thought he was going to walk Scott free," Brown said, his distaste for the man evident in his voice. "He started ranting that we didn't have any proof." He shook his head.

Rafe shook his head and added, "Dan Wolf did the DNA match last night. The skin under Thompson's fingernails was definitely Keller's. And combined with the rest of the evidence the Captain was able to get Judge Stevens to sign a search warrant after hours for Keller's apartment. We searched his apartment and his police locker last night and found the shoe that matched the bloody footprint near Sampson's body. He hadn't even tried to clean the blood off of it. Idiot had it stashed in his locker here at the station."

"Add that to his previous confession about using Thompson's smuggling setup to run drugs into the country and he'll be lucky if he doesn't get the death penalty thrown at him," Brown added in satisfaction.

Jim grinned. "You guys are good. So I take it that this also solves the case of the mysterious new drug pipeline?"

"Yes, indeed," Simon replied in satisfaction. "I truly love it when everything falls into place like this."

Jim glanced down at Blair and saw that he was watching their interaction with wide eyes. He could almost see the wheels turning in his head and he smiled at the thought. "Whatcha thinking, Chief?"

Blair blinked and smiled at Jim. "I was just reminded of that old story about the customs agent and the bicyclist."

"I don't think I've heard that one, Sandburg." Simon raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Well, the story goes something like this. There was a customs agent who worked the border crossing between San Diego and Mexico. He was near retirement and so, you know, he'd been around a long time, and figured he could spot a smuggler at 50 paces. Anyway, there was a young Mexican who crossed into California several times a week on his bicycle. The guy pushed all of the agent's buttons and he searched the man every time he crossed, but he never found anything illegal on him. Finally the day came when the agent retired. The thing with the bicyclist still bugged him, though, so one day he drove into Mexico and waited for the guy to return. When he walked across the border the agent approached him and told him that he knew he was smuggling something, but that he hadn't been able to figure it out. He begged the guy to tell him what it was. The guy looked at him for a moment and then told him. The agent laughed himself silly."

"Well? What was he smuggling?" Simon glared at the kid.

Jim grinned. In unison with Sandburg he said, "The bicycles."

Simon groaned and they all chuckled.

"May I ask a question?" Sandburg asked hesitantly.

"Go ahead, Chief."

"How did Keller find out about Dr. Thompson's smuggling operation?"

"Dumb luck," Rafe replied. "Keller was part of a narcotics raid at the airport. He was in the customs area when one of Thompson's shipments came in and thought there was something odd about how it was handled. He kept his mouth shut and did a little digging. It wasn't hard for him to figure out what was going on once he looked into it."

"Keller denied it in his statement, but we figure he's the one who approached his partners about using Thompson's setup to run the drugs, instead of the other way around."

"It would be the ideal setup, Chief." Jim shook his head. "A pre-existing pipeline that everyone involved with knew was only used for the relatively harmless smuggling of artifacts. It had been going on for so long that probably no one even bothered to check any more that that's all that was being brought in."

"Keller more than likely threatened Thompson with exposure if he went to the police." Brown shrugged.

"I guess I never really knew him at all," Blair said softly and gazed at the floor.

Jim dropped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Good work, gentlemen," Simon said and grinned like the Cheshire cat. "I'll expect to see your reports on my desk by this afternoon."

Brown and Rafe nodded and headed out the door with Jim and Sandburg close behind them.

"Hold up a minute, Jim. You too, Sandburg." Simon waited until the door was again closed and gestured for them to sit in the chairs facing his desk.

"Was there something more, Sir?" Jim frowned.

"Yes, Jim. Now that this case is over and Sandburg here has been officially cleared, I thought we ought to have that talk about this sentinel business." He raised his eyebrows when Sandburg gasped. "You did tell the kid that you'd talked to me, didn't you?"

"Um, not exactly, Sir. I hadn't had a chance to yet." He glanced at Sandburg ruefully. "I'm sorry, Chief. I guess I should have told you that I'd already discussed it with the Captain."

Blair shook his head. "That's all right, Jim. I was just surprised, is all." He turned to Simon. "I'm sure you have questions."

"Yeah, I do. First of all, what do you get out of this?" He watched Sandburg closely, a speculative expression on his face.

"Well," Blair said hesitantly, "part of it's the satisfaction of seeing what Jim can do and helping him learn to use his senses to help him in his job. I'd thought about writing a series of articles about the police department from an anthropological perspective to justify why I'm riding with Jim."

Simon nodded.

"Wait a minute, Chief. You just said 'you'd thought about writing articles.' Do you mean you've changed your mind?" Jim frowned.

"Sort of." He smiled at Jim. "It's just that I got to thinking and after observing everything in the last few days, well, I think there's more here than just a few articles. I was kind of thinking about doing my doctoral thesis on the department instead. This place is incredible and the work you do is so important, man. I...I was just thinking that people should have a fresh perspective on how you all interact and what you experience." He looked away as if embarrassed.

"I see," Simon said slowly. "So, you'd ride-along with Jim and help him with his senses and you'd observe the rest of us as well in order to write your thesis."

He shook his head. "Only if you agree to it. If you say no to the thesis, I'd still want to ride with Jim and help him." He squirmed in his seat and added in a low voice, "I _have_ to help him."

Jim smiled. With that statement, Blair admitted that he was Jim's Guide.

Simon opened one of his desk drawers, pulled out a bulky object and dropped it on his desk with a thud. Jim and Blair both stared at the book in shock. _The Sentinels of Paraguay._

"Simon? Where--"

"Where did I get this book?" He leaned back in his chair and grinned. "I _was_ a detective before I made Captain, you know. After you told me about your senses and the sentinel story, I made a little trip of my own out to Dr. Thompson's house. This makes for very interesting reading, gentlemen. Mr. Sandburg, I'm glad to hear you say that you'd help Jim whether or not you'd be allowed any other gain. I have to say that I agree with Jim that you're his Guide. I can't even imagine any of the other detectives in the department being able or willing to do for him what you've already done. On the other hand, I see no reason why you shouldn't benefit and get your doctorate out of this as well." He reached into the still open drawer, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Sandburg.

Blair took the paper and glanced at the Captain in confusion. "Sir?"

"That's the form you need to fill out in order to become a ride-along observer, Sandburg." He turned to Jim. "Have him fill it out and then the two of you bring it in with you a week from Monday."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "A week from Monday, Simon? That's--"

"A week and a half from now. Yes, I know that, Detective. I think you deserve a few days off after solving the Switchman case and then wrapping up two murders and a drug smuggling operation, don't you? The two of you can take the time to start working on your senses, Jim." He sat back and winked at him.

Jim's eyes widened and he smiled. "Yes, Sir. Thanks, Simon." He stood up and gestured to the door. "Come on, Chief. Let's get out of here before something happens to make him change his mind."

As Jim turned the doorknob, Simon said, "Gentlemen? Aren't you forgetting something?" He nudged the book towards the edge of his desk.

Blair glanced at Jim and then grabbed the book.

"Sir? Shouldn't that go back?"

Simon shook his head. "Nope. Since Thompson was involved in drug dealing, his estate is forfeit. I think we can arrange to sell that book to the two of you for a nominal fee, don't you?"

"Thanks, Captain Banks." Blair smiled.

"Now, get out of here, the both of you," Simon growled and made shooing motions with both hands.

They stopped at Jim's desk to shutdown his computer and get Blair's backpack. Satisfied that they had everything, they headed for the elevator to take them down to the garage.

They were alone in the elevator. Jim gazed down into Blair's blue eyes and traced his fingers gently over his cheek. "Ready to go home, Chief?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Home," Blair agreed slowly. "That sounds like a great place to me." His voice was low and held out a promise of good things to come.


End file.
